#the way he stares the gun down as he hurtles towards the planet and his body starts to succumb to the poison | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

retroateez · 4 years ago

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bandit king - s.mingi

hello!!! literally nobody wanted this but i’ve written it anyway and actually?? i quite enjoyed writing a character like this. i hope you enjoy! if you do, please like or any other way of letting me know!

// Apocalypse!AU Borderlands x Ateez AU Bandit King!Mingi x Vault Hunter!Reader I guess this is kind of??? angst // I’ve tried my best to write a gender neutral reader, but if i’ve slipped up anywhere please tell me and i’ll change it ASAP. Warnings; mentions of blood, death (murder), guns, graphic descriptions of violence and explicit language. if i’ve missed anything that may potentially be triggering, please message me and i will add it to this list. wc;4642

“Strip the flesh! Salt the wound!”

You aim your radiated Maliwan shotgun at the psycho who was hurtling towards you, screeching nonsense at the top of his lungs. Without blinking an eye, you pull the trigger and watch the shell plunge into his chest, knocking him to the floor in an instant. You lower your gun, and stand frozen in your position.

Wait for it…

His skinny frame is launched thirty meters into the air with an explosion that leaves your ears ringing. A toxic, mustard-coloured cloud trails after him as he flies upwards, then rolls over his corpse when he lands with a dull thump.

You had always favoured Maliwan’s range of elemental shotguns.

With a sigh, you sling the gun into its holster on your back, and step over the dead psycho with a small smirk.

One down, plenty more to go.

-----

Tracking the Bandit King had proven much more of a challenge than your contractor had initially let on. Bringing you from your home planet to the run-down, wasteland named Pandora, you’d travelled far and wide looking for them. Rife with rival gun manufacturers, various bandit clans and ‘ordinary’ civilians just trying to survive, your particular maniac could be anywhere. You didn’t know much about him except for his name; Inferno. It was a stupid name, for an equally stupid leader of a stupid bandit gang, but you were promised a substantial amount of pay for his murder, so he could call himself whatever he wanted; he would be dead soon.

However, the night was quickly approaching, and you’d been driving through the dusty Pandoran plains for far too long, so you pull up to the next bar you come across. You park your sandy brown Outrunner to the left of the tavern and walk towards the entrance.

‘The Blood Bucket’ flickers in a blinding, neon purple above the crimson stained double doors. A fine establishment for some fine patronage, you presume.

With a kick of your steel-toed boot, the doors swing open and a hush falls over the customers almost immediately; it’s not everyday they witness a vault hunter so out in the open.

“Ain’t no vault here, you scumbag!” a hoarse voice calls out from the crowd of drunks, and the rest of them break out into laughter.

You reach down and slightly withdraw your Vladof pistol from your hip, the crowd falling silent once more as you inch it out of it’s holster and clutch it in your hand. All eyes are on you as you approach the bar, and although you’re used to the staring and scowling from random people, it’ll always make you nervous. Not that you would ever show weakness, as a vault hunter, you’d sooner die than let anyone believe they had an advantage over you.

“A bed for the night?” You ask the bartender, although it comes out more as a demand than a question.

You can see by the way his lip curls up in disgust that he isn’t best pleased about having you, a murderer, thief and all-round terrible person who galivants across the galaxy facading as a hero, standing before him in his bar. But he knows how ruthless vault hunters are, how cold-hearted they can be and he’s aware that you can put a bullet between his eyes quicker than he can say “skin pizza”.

So he reluctantly points to his right, indicating to a set of rickety looking stairs, to which you assume the rooms are. You nod in thanks and make your way over to the steps, ignoring the glares from everyone else in the bar. Hurrying up them, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and unclench your fists from their stiff positions by your side. The tensest parts of these contracts were never committing the murder itself, it was always the journey getting there that made you anxious to your core.

Admittedly, you’d grown accustomed to your lifestyle, even if you had no choice. It was a dog-eat-dog universe, and you’d built yourself into a powerful lone wolf. Yet there were always bigger beasts out there, no matter how hard you trained or how many people you killed. It would probably never be enough, but for the time being, you had no other choice; you had to slaughter, or run the risk of being slaughtered yourself.

-----

The next morning, you wake early and wash the dried blood out of your hair from the day before. You sit on the (surprisingly comfortable) bed and pull out the contractor’s instructions from your bag. Skimming over the pages for the millionth time, you study Inferno’s face one more time.

You’d been hired to take out countless enemies for countless rich idiots, but there was something different about him, and you hated to admit it; but he was ridiculously handsome. One of the documents given to you was an old, faded ‘wanted’ poster, featuring a photograph of the bandit king himself. Judging by the photo’s setup, you guessed it was a mugshot of sorts, as Inferno is standing, facing the camera and holding a sign. Typically, there would be a name written on the board that the criminals hold, but this one has been scratched out, presumably to hide his identity. Whoever crossed that name out, wants Inferno’s real name kept quiet. You can relate though; you don’t go by your real name either. Nicknames are so much safer to use, especially on this wasteland of a planet.

You stare down into his hooded eyes in the photograph, responding to his stagnant smirk with a frown of your own. The height markers behind him indicate a healthy six feet and you wonder how somebody so good-looking managed to become the crazed ruler of a bunch of lunatics. You imagine his wildly curly hair is an obnoxious red, the blood spatters on your documents covering the sepia tones of the photo and giving him quite a nice hair colour.

The longer you inspect his face, the more and more you start to feel for him. It’s a foreign feeling, sympathy. You don’t like it. You hate that you think he could’ve become more, become something better than a murderous clan leader. Because this mugshot is clearly old, from a time before he was totally corrupted by blood-lust and greed. From before he could solve anything and everything with the pull of a trigger. And you realise it’s because this young, up-and-coming bandit king in the photograph reminds you of yourself. Before you were forced into fending for yourself and transforming into somebody deep down you were ashamed of, but realistically you had no choice. And it was likely that your next victim had no choice either. Nobody did. Not on Pandora. Not anywhere.

Abruptly, you stuff the documents deep inside your backpack and then haul it over your shoulders. Grabbing your shotgun and pistol and hiding them inside their holsters, you feel that same rush flood over you as it does everytime you pick up a gun. It’s similar to an unwavering calmness, a complete opposite to how any other ordinary person would be if they were to clutch a huge Maliwan shotgun to their chest. You pick up the new, DAHL SMG that’s leaning by the door and twist it around in your hands. Aptly named ‘Night Hawkin’, it switches from shooting pyro bullets to cryo (ice) bullets depending on the time of day, and you figure that Inferno is the perfect test-subject for your new toy.

Once you’ve gathered your few belongings, you march downstairs to pay the innkeeper.

“Five Eridium bars?!” you snap. “You didn’t say anything about Eridium fees.”

The innkeeper raises his smug little face at you and you resist all urges to pistol whip him across the room.

“I figured a vault hunter like you would have no trouble paying up,” he spits. “After all, you like to gloat about how much you rob from those vaults, right?”

“Two bars.” you bargain. He’s right, truthfully. You do have the money, more than enough actually, to pay him the full five, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Four bars,” he pauses for a second and eyes you from his side of the bar. “Four, and I’ll tell you where your bandit lover-boy is.”

You freeze. How did he know-

“You don’t think I check on the people who stay here?” his smirk grows and you realise he’s got you in the palm of his hand. He has information that, providing he was telling you the truth, could be extremely helpful. You’re also pretty bewildered that he went through your things while you were sleeping too, but now is not the time to unravel all of that.

“Fine.” you grumble. “But information first, payment second.”

The barkeep fixes his gaze on you for a few moments before crossing his arms and leaning forwards. He lowers his voice, despite the bar being relatively empty.

“You’ll find him at The Devil’s Footstool,” he mumbles. “Just north of The Salt Flats.”

“I thought that was Hyperion territory?” you question. Hyperion, one of the most influential weapon manufacturers and businesses this side of the galaxy had reign over the majority of Pandora. Naturally, you despised Hyperion and everything they stood for; a corrupt, power-driven company who stopped at nothing to get what they wanted. Butchering thousands of innocent lives for their own benefit. You loathed Hyperion.

The innkeeper shrugs.

“Inferno and his bandit followers waltzed in not so long ago like they owned the place,” he explained. “Not Hyperion anymore.”

You nodded, opting not to say anything else. Reaching into your bag, you pull out the four violet bars and hand them over to the innkeeper, unimpressed at having to fork out such a ridiculous amount.

It didn’t matter though, because the information he had just given you could save you days, even weeks in completing the contract. Even if it turned out he was lying out of his ass, you might still be able to find something at The Devil’s Footstool regardless. If not, you knew where he lived, and there was a brand-new shotgun with his name on it that you were just itching to try out.

You sling the backpack over your shoulder again, mumble a ‘thank you’ to the barkeep and make your exit. Jumping into the driver’s seat of your vehicle, and heaving the bag into the passenger seat, you prepare yourself for the endless journey through the boiling heat and dust. You hated it here.

-----

Five hours later, you finally arrive at your destination; The Salt Flats. Stocking up before embarking on tracking Inferno down for the final time was a very good idea, so you pulled into a small town just on the outskirts of The Salt Flats. You’d be in luck if the inhabitants (if there were any) weren’t hostile, but you weren’t planning on staying long. Luckily, you manage to find a nearby ammunitions vending machine, so you spend a good fifteen minutes buying shells, bullets, grenades, anything you think you might need to send Inferno’s cult of weirdos sprawling.

Also, what kind of dumbass name was Inferno?

There were so many crazy individuals spread across the planet but you’d never get over some of the stupid names they chose for themselves. One of the most absurd characters being King Wee Wee, a bandit lord in New Haven. You’d yet to find anyone dumber than him. But on Pandora, you’d probably find them soon enough.

Shaking your head and double-checking your bag is tightly secured, you throw it into the back of the Outrunner. But before you can jump into the driver’s seat, you freeze.

You squint into the distance, almost as if blinding yourself momentarily will make your hearing clearer. And somehow it works, the faint sound of rushing footsteps nearing closer and closer. The grunting and wheezy breaths immediately signal out to you; there’s a psycho nearby. And he’s not happy that you’re here.

The slim, weirdly ripped frame whips around the corner, bolting out from behind an abandoned car. His mask covers his entire face, and you’ve dealt with psychos millions of times before, but the blank, expressionless masks always chilled you to the bone.

“You’re gonna be my new meat bicycle!” he screeches at you, before hurling himself over the hood of the car and sprinting full-speed towards you, waving some sort of nailed bat above his head.

Instinctively, you withdraw your pistol and before you can even blink, there’s a deafening bang! and the hideous screaming stops, leaving the psycho as nothing more than a bloody, crumpled heap on the dirty ground. Catchihg your breath, you watch the pool of crimson seep across the earth below your feet, and put the pistol back by your hip. No matter how quick your reflexes were, psychos would always manage to scare the living shit out of you. It was their odd, unsettling catchphrases more than anything. They stuck to wild, close-range combat, so anybody with a gun would easily defeat one. But when they threaten to turn your face into pepperoni? That’s when you’re caught off guard.

You hop into your car, turning the engine and pressing on the gas as hard as you can. Eager to get out of this town in fear of what else might come barreling around corners and out of alleyways.

Yet it’s in your haste that you fail to see the tattoo inked onto the psycho’s body. You overlook the dark outline of the bursting flames on his torso, something you’ll end up wishing you hadn’t missed.

-----

Crouching behind a semi-blown up road-block, you’re just outside of Inferno’s compound. After scouting the area, you were certain that nobody was patrolling the areas outside. You wondered how Inferno had managed to seize The Devil’s Footstool from Hyperion. The central focus of the area was a massive arena, where you assumed Hyperion personnel would train. What did Inferno want with a fighting arena?

It was suspicious too, how there was not another living soul out here with you. You supposed that maybe there was a meeting going on inside the building attached to the stadium, one where literally everybody had to present for? Although psychos could barely tell apart their own limbs from hotdogs, so if there was an important gathering, it’s unlikely they’d be invited.

Still, you keep your guard up, head down and make your way towards the building. As you gain on the entrance, you hear the roaring of engines rise up into the air; there must be a race in the arena. But the track is behind the main building, and you can’t see or access it from here. So the only option is to go through the building.

With one hand clutching your pistol, you slope around the left of the building, deciding that going through the front doors would be stupidly reckless, instead looking for a side door. Alternatively, you locate a window, which conveniently is already open. You peer inside, scanning what appears to be a study or an office, with nothing but a wooden desk and a chair in the middle.

You should’ve sensed that something was off because of how empty the room was; offices should have shelves, plants, bits of paper everywhere, right?

However, you think nothing of it, continuing to hoist the window up and combat roll into the room. You stand up immediately, about to reach behind you and grab the shotgun slung across your back but suddenly, an arm flies in front of you, wrapping around your throat with your chin buried in the crevice of their elbow. You dig your nails into their forearm, your vision firmly planted onto the tattoo shaped like a burst of flames on his arm. Caught off guard, you don’t make the connection in your head between the tattoo and the obvious.

“Hello,” a deep voice purrs into your ear, causing goosebumps across your entire body. “I’ve been expecting you.”

-----

The barrel of his assault rifle presses painfully against your spine, and his bicep is squeezing against your jugular so hard you think you might pass out. You bite your bottom lip harshly to stay quiet, and to ground yourself. Panicking now is the last thing you want.

“It’s not everyday a vault hunter comes tumbling through my office window.” you feel him smirk against your ear and you curse yourself for not checking the room properly.

“Where’s Inferno?” you demand. “I have business with him.”

“Business?” he echoes, easing his grip on your neck a little, but still restricting almost all of your movement. “Are you sure? I don’t recall him having any business to attend to today.”

You attempt to twist your head around to look at him, but he catches your chin in his hand which thankfully, removes the pressure from your neck. But now he’s tightly gripping your face and you can feel his fingers press against your teeth through your cheek.

“Tsk tsk,” he reprimands you, tutting into your hair. “Face forward. If you agree to behave, I’ll take you to Inferno and you can handle this so-called ‘business’”.

Nodding, (or at least, as best as you can with his vice-grip on your jaw), you agree. The gun is still prodding into your spine, and with the way he’s towering over you, there’s no way you could possibly escape from this.

So you allow him to march you through the building, reverting back to having his forearm basically crush your windpipe, causing you both to shuffle awkwardly through the hallways. He leads you up three flights of stairs, multiple twists and turns, (the building definitely didn’t look this big from the outside), until he bustles you into a random room at the end of another, identical hallway.

Only when you’re inside and he’s checked the door is locked, does he retract his grip and move away.

You swivel around the second he lets go, retrieving the pistol and aiming it out in front of you. The sight before you shocks you to your stomach, and you almost drop the small firearm.

Inferno himself is standing right there, the smuggest grin on his stupid face. His eyes are hooded, yet still sparkling mischievously with his gaze fixed directly on you. Taller than you thought he was too, you have to look up a fair amount to meet his stare. He has a sharp, narrow nose that suits the rest of his face and a few, prominent freckles splattered over his cheeks like blood. What strikes you the most is his hair. Curly, wild, and obnoxiously red. So the blood on the paper was right.

“Hi, darling.” he drawls. “Expecting somebody else?”

He’s rolling the Night Hawkin submachine gun in his hands, inspecting it from the stock to the magazine with an impressed pout. He flicks the manual switch between pyro ammunition and cryo, and chuckles shortly at the icy bullets.

“Nice weapon,” he compliments you. “Let me guess, DAHL? Those bastards love to make guns that make my life difficult.”

His playful tone irks you, and you scowl angrily at him. Not only has he stolen your brand-new weapon, he’s playing mind games with you. It’s just a shame that you’re playing yourself right into his hands. Inferno raises an eyebrow at your silence.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teases. “That’s okay, I’ll do the talking.”

Making no reply, you keep your pistol aimed at him, thanking the gods that your arms aren’t trembling the same way your breath is.

He paces around the room, slowly making a circle around you and you’re forced to spin on the spot to keep your gun aimed at his head. He’s still smirking, even as he begins to speak.

“You’re here to kill me, correct?” he nods in acknowledgment as you confirm that yes, you are in fact here to murder him. “I thought so.”

“You see, I have a slight problem with that,” he continues, strolling over to the window and glancing at the blazing sun outside. “It’s beautiful weather outside today, and I’d really prefer not to die and miss out on topping up my tan.”

What?

You don’t even know how to reply to that, but he doesn’t give you the opportunity to do so.

“Not only would you be murdering me on a wonderfully hot afternoon, you’d be committing yet another crime against me. And what have I done to you, vault hunter?” he fake pouts, and you catch yourself before you feel sympathy creep back in.

But what did he mean ‘another’ crime? You haven’t met him before now. Murder contracts are nothing personal; you’re simply the messenger.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” he’s in front of you before you can even register his fingers curled underneath your chin, tilting your head up to glare dead into his eyes. The tip of your pistol is pressing into his chest, just right of his heart. Yet he doesn’t appear fazed at all.

“Let me jog your memory.” he murmurs, fanning hot air all over your face.

In an instant, he’s seized your pistol, wrenching it from your hold and spun you around so your back is leaning against his chest. You can feel his jaw resting on the top of your head, and the way he moves round to your right, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear like before.

“Not so long ago, I believe you had an encounter with a very good friend of mine.” husky voice eerily calm, you hate to admit that you’re terrified.

You’re used to dealing with the most insane individuals the planet has to offer, but there’s something human in him. Something so raw that it’s thrown you completely off balance. There was absolutely nothing in the universe that could have prepared you for a bandit king who wasn’t completely crazy. For someone who reminded you of yourself, somebody who was trying to survive in this barren, apocalyptic wasteland, albeit through entirely immoral means.

“My friend is dead now, thanks to you.” there’s no bitterness or even anger lacing his words, and you’re conflicted on whether he’s furious or grateful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you exhale, finding your voice eventually.

“Oh? The vault hunter speaks!” he feigns surprise, but the arm you hadn’t even noticed wrapped around your waist squeezes you closer into him.

You truly had no idea what he was on about though. You’d killed a lot of people, although you’d spent the majority of the day driving, so unless you’d accidentally fallen asleep at the wheel and taken part of an unconscious hit and run, you were clueless.

“The town just outside of The Salt Flats,” he snaps, losing his temper with you. You feel his chest rise and fall as he recollects himself, and you wonder how short his fuse must be. “Steve only wanted to show you his new bicycle.”

Bicycle?

“That psycho was your friend?” you blurt out.

“Steve was my second-in-command,” Inferno mumbles into your ear. “And you put a bullet in his head. I don’t appreciate that one little bit, vault hunter.” as he finishes his sentence, he raises his free arm and plants the barrel of your pistol to your forehead, the cold metal a cool change to your burning skin.

“I don’t like it when people mess with my things.” he growls lowly. “I also don’t like having to find new second-in-commands.”

“You’ve got plenty of lunatics to choose from.” you whisper.

“No. I don’t think any of them are fit for the job, you see.” he retorts immediately, barely waiting for you to finish your own sentence.

“Yet how convenient it is,” he carries on. “That there is a new vacancy, just as you break into my office.”

“No, I don’t thi-”

“You don’t think anything, vault hunter,” he interrupts you, his tone getting aggressive and rougher. “I regret to inform you, but you don’t have a fucking choice.” You can tell from the pistol digging into your skin that he isn’t sorry at all, and that he might be right; do you really have much of a choice?

“What do you want from me?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

His clutches weaken ever so slightly, finally allowing oxygen properly into your lungs. It was looking more likely for you to die from lack of breath rather than a bullet to the brain.

“I just told you,” he says. “I want you to be my second-in-command, seeing as you killed my previous one. Think of it as an exchange.”

“An exchange? For what?”

He leans over your shoulder, his cheek pressing against your own as you try to look him in the face.

“Put it this way, you join us, or you die. Does that make sense, Y/N?” he examines your reaction with an ecstatic grin, watching as your face drops and your breach catches in your throat.

How did he know your name?

The panic that shoots through you is immeasurable; nobody is supposed to know your real name. Nobody should know your real name. So how the fuck does this stupid, mind-game playing bandit king who you’ve never met before, know?

Satisfied with your response and knowing you’re putty in his hands, he completely lets go of you, even removing the pistol from between your eyes. You sense him moving away, the space around you turning empty and cold. Part of you wishes, hopes that he’ll put his arms back around you and make you warm again, and the other half of you wants to yank the small ice pick out from your sock and jab it into his eye socket over and over and over again.

You stand in the center of the room, motionless for what seems like an eternity, just thinking. Inferno waits behind you patiently, and you secretly commend him for being the sanest psycho you’ve ever met.

But clearly his patience begins to wear thin, as he comes round to stand in front of you. He bends down to match your height and uses his fingertip to lift your chin up a little, the same way he did previously. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a polar opposite to the way he was choking you and harshly grasping you not even five minutes ago.

“So?” he hums. “What do you say?”

Inferno searches your eyes as you mull over your answer. Although, there isn’t much thinking left for you to do; he’s metaphorically backed you into a corner and realistically, you have no escape.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you rasp, the pressure of his gaze weighing down heavily on you and making you tenfold more nervous.

“Excellent!” he beams, standing up straight and clapping his hands together. “You’ll make a much better second-in-command than a vault hunter-”

“On one condition, I’ll join you.” you interrupt him, and his excited demeanour drops.

His dark eyes bore in yours, and he raises an eyebrow, indicating for you to name the stipulation.

“Tell me your name.” you request. “Your real one.”

“I don’t think you quite understand the power dynamic here, darling.” he scoffs.

“No, I understand perfectly,” you quip. “I just don’t think it’s fair that you know mine, but I don’t know yours.”

You hold your palm out in a mock handshake pose.

“Say the name, and I’m yours.”

“Say my name?” he snorts, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue and turning his head away from you.

Suddenly, his large palm slaps into yours, his long fingers curling around your hand and he performs a strong, steady handshake.

“Mingi.” he says quietly. “You can call me Mingi.”

You smirk, reciprocating the formal shake.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mingi.”

// if people like this then i already have ideas for a part two... hehe

#ateez #ateez au #borderlands x ateez #apocalypse!ateez #mingi #song mingi #mingi fluff #mingi angst

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cleocat246 · 4 years ago

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Star Trek Chapter 3

Summary: Hailey Pike, a Starfleet officer and daughter goes through Life and Space while trying to help as many people as she can. With species and events trying to destroy mankind and everything in existence. She has to save the people she loves and also the universe with the help of new friends and crew members.

==========================================

"Without transporters, we can't beam off the ship, can't assist Vulcan, and can't do our job. Mister Kirk, Mister Sulu, and Engineer Olson will space-jump from the shuttle. You will land on that machine they lowered into the atmosphere that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside. You'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship. Mister Spock, I'm leaving you in command of the Enterprise," My father says to us as we all speed down a corridor to a shuttle, "Once we have transport capabilities and communications back up, you'll contact Starfleet and report what the hell's going on here. And if all else fails, fall back, rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system. Kirk, I'm promoting you to First Officer."

"What?" Jim responds in surprise.

"Captain, please, I apologize. The complexities of Human pranks escape me." Spock says, slightly perplexed and hurt.

"It's not a prank, Spock. And I'm not the Captain, you are. Let's go." Before going into the elevator, my father reassures, "Hailey, you take over Sulu's position, please." making me nod in understanding.

"Sir, after we knock out that drill, what happens to you?" Jim asks, also getting on next to my father as well as Sulu.

"Oh, I guess you'll have to come and get me," My father replied before turning to Spock and me, "Careful with the ship, Spock. She's brand new. Oh, and my daughter too. Hailey, don't rip anyone's heads off." The door then closes, and I shake my head as Spock starts back for the Bridge.

(3rd person)

Once back on the Bridge, Spock takes the Captain's chair as Hailey takes the pilot's chair. Spock then starts talking on the comm, "Doctor Puri, report."

A different voice that wasn't Doctor Puri came on, "It's McCoy. Doctor Puri was on deck six. He's dead."

"Then, you have just inherited his responsibility as Chief Medical Officer," Spock replies.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

Hailey was getting everything ready on her console when the info for the three men of the away team came up on the screen. The three sensors popped up, making both Chekov and the girl get ready.

"Away team is entering the atmosphere, sir. Twenty thousand meters." Chekov says, working on his console some more.

"Approaching the platform at fifty-eight hundred meters," Hailey said, looking up at the screen.

"Kirk to Enterprise." Jim announces over the comm while hurling through the air, "Distance to target, five thousand meters."

"Forty-six hundred meters from the platform," Chekov says.

"Forty-two hundred meters to target," Sulu says, also hurling down through the atmosphere.

"Four thousand meters," Jim says.

"Three thousand meters," Sulu says.

"Three thousand meters."

"Two thousand meters."

"Pull your chute," Sulu says while pulling his chute along with Jim, but Olson doesn't pull his.

"Two thousand meters!" The engineer says, still hurtling toward his destination.

"C'mon, pull your chute, Olson!" Jim yells frantically.

"Not yet! Fifteen hundred meters!" Olson shouts while laughing.

"Open your chute!"

"Yeah!" Olson cheers as he gets closer and closer to the drill.

"Olson, pull your chute!" Jim yells again, trying to get Olson to cooperate.

"One thousand meters," Olson yells, pulling his chute and cheering. But instead of landing, he slams into the platform and gets sucked into the energy beam.

"OLSON!" Jim shouts.

"O-Olson is gone, sir," Chekov says, not knowing what to do. Hailey looks down on her console, messing with a few things before looking back up on the screen.

Jim lands and nearly does the same as Olson as the wind drags him close to the edge. Before making it over, he grabs on to a metal opening and retracts his parachute.

"Ji-Kirk has landed, sir," Hailey stutters a little, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

Jim starts fighting some Romulans that made their way onto the drill to stop them. After fighting and Sulu joining with a sword, they were able to disable the platform with the Romulans' disruptor.

"The jamming signal is gone. Transport abilities are reestablished." Uhuru says, working on her console. "Transporter control is reengaged, sir," Hailey says, making Spock look over to Chekov and order him to run gravitational sensors to know what they are doing to the planet. "Aye Commander, ack, Captain. Sorry, Captain." Chekov stutters but does what he was told.

Jim then comes in over the communicator, "Kirk to Enterprise. They just launched something at the planet, through the hole they just drilled." But no one replied as everyone was busy, "Do you copy Enterprise?"

"Yes, sorry, Jim!" Hailey says while working on a couple things at once and trying to see what the Romulans shot down to the planet.

"Captain, gravitational sensors are off the scale. If my calculations are correct, they're creating a singularity that will consume the planet." Chekov states as he works more on his console.

"They're creating a black hole at the center of Vulcan?" Spock asks, and you can tell that he was worried - well, most wouldn't, but he was concerned.

"Yes, sir."

"How long does the planet have?" Spock asks, staring at the Russian kid. "Minutes, sir. Minutes." Spock then gets out of his chair and walks over to Uhura to alert the Vulcan command center to signal a planetwide evacuation. Then, the Vulcan makes his way to the door, making Hailey follow suit, "Where are you going?"

"To evacuate the Vulcan High Council. They are tasked with protecting our cultural history, and my parents will be among them." Spock states, making Uhura jump in, "Can't you beam them out?"

"It is impossible. They will be in the katric ark. I must get them myself." Spock says before turning to Checkov, "Chekov, you have the comm."

"Aye. Uh, yay." He sighs.

==============================

(Hailey's POV)

I was running after Spock down the hallway while he was getting everything he needed. He put his belt on and was grabbing a gun and strapped it on. We made our way to the transporter room and walked in, seeing Jim and Sulu getting up off the ground.

"Clear the pad. I'm beaming to the surface." Spock demands getting on the pad. "The surface of what? What, are you going down there? Are you nuts? Spock, you can't do that?!" Jim shouts towards the Vulcan, who wasn't listening.

Before he can leave, I walk up to him and grab his shirt, "Spock, Cyrus was staying with your parents on Vulcan, so he should be with them. Please, please bring back my brother!"

"I will do everything to bring him back alive with the rest," Spock states, putting his hand on my shoulder and nodding. "Thank you and be careful, please," I say while walking backward toward Jim and Sulu.

"Energize." Spock was then transported to Vulcan to get his parents, Vulcan High Council, and my brother. Please let him be safe! Please bring my brother back to me! Please!

After a while of waiting and panicking, Spock finally comes through the comm, "Spock to Enterprise. Get us out now!"

"Locking on you," Checkov says, getting their location, "Don't move. Stay right where you are."

"Transport in five... four... three... two...," Alarms start blaring, "I'm losing her. I'm losing her, I'm losing her! No, I've lost her."

The Vulcan High Council and Spock are transported into the room. Spock had his arm out, reaching for someone - it was his mother. They start to get off, and I see Cyrus right behind Spock. We run to each other and hug, tears were falling down my face as I didn't let go of him.

"I thought I lost you," I whisper to my brother, making him hug me tighter. "You won't lose me, sister, don't worry," he reassures while I sniffle.

=============================

We were all in sickbay as everyone gets checked for their injuries. The Romulans disappeared, and the Vulcan planet was now gone. The Vulcan council was getting looked over, and Jim was getting his handed wrapped. I was sitting next to my brother, who was also getting checked over.

The Romulan ship, the Narada, was nowhere near us and my father was still on that ship. He is now officially classified as a hostage by the war criminal, Nero. Not knowing what's happening to him hurts, he's alone with those people, and he could either be hurt or dead... please don't be dead.

I get pulled from my thoughts when a hand landed on my shoulder, "Are you okay, Hails?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay, Cy," I say, grabbing his hands and looking down, "The Romulans have dad." He stays silent, just rubbing my hands, trying to soothe me.

"At least you are safe," I say, smiling up at the Vulcan, which makes him smile back, "I love you, brother."

"I love you too, sister."

'I wonder how Spock is.'

Me too, me too.

================================

"Have you confirmed that Nero is headed for Earth?" Spock asks while walking across the Bridge. We were all on the Bridge trying to figure out what Nero's next move is and what we should do.

"Their trajectory suggests no other destination, Captain." Uhura answers.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Earth may be his next stop, but we have to assume every Federation planet's a target," Jim says while seated in the Captain's chair.

"Out of the chair," Spock says, making Jim roll his eyes but get up.

"Well, if the Federation is a target, why didn't they destroy us?" Chekov asks, making me shake my head and look at every one. "Why would they? Why waste the weapons? You know... we obviously weren't a threat." Sulu answers from his seat.

"That is not it. He said he wanted me to see something. The destruction of my home planet." Spock states in concentration. "How the hell did they do that, by the way? Where did the Romulans get that kind of weaponry?" Bones asks, looking at all of us.

"The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer. Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time." I say, rubbing my chin in thought. Everyone was looking at me in surprise, "What?"

"Dammit, Hailey, I'm a doctor, not a physicist. Are you actually suggesting they're from the future?!" Bones grumbles out.

"If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," I answer Bones, making Spock nod in agreement. "How poetic." Bones states.

"Then, what would an angry future Romulan want with Captain Pike?" Jim asks, making Sulu answer, "As Captain, he does know details of Starfleet's defenses."

"What we need to do is catch up to that ship. Disable it, take it over, and get Pike back." Jim says, making Spock look at him. "We are technologically outmatched in every way. A rescue attempt would be illogical." Jim sighs and rubs his face.

"Nero's ship would have to drop out of warp for us to overtake him," Chekov says.

"Then, what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp gear?" Jim asks

"Remaining power and crew are being used to repair radiation leaks on the lower decks..." Spock says.

"Okay, alright. There's got to be some way..." Jim started, but Spock talks over him. "...We must gather with the rest of Starfleet to balance the terms of the next engagement."

"There won't be a next engagement. By the time we've gathered, it'll be too late. But you say he's from the future, knows what's going to happen, then the logical thing is to be unpredictable." Jim states, getting frustrated

"You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold," Spock says.

"On the contrary, Nero's very presence has altered the flow of history. Beginning with the attack on the USS Kelvin, culminating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be anticipated by either party," I say, leaning against the Captain's chair.

"An alternate reality?" Uhura asks in disbelief

"Precisely. Whatever our lives might have been, if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed. Mr. Sulu, plot a course to the Laurentian system warp factor three." Spock commands.

"Spock, don't do that. Running back to the rest of the fleet for a-a-a confab is a massive waste of time-" Jim says.

"Orders issued by Captain Pike when he left-" Spock speaks over him.

"He also ordered us to go back and get him. Spock, you are captain now! You have to be-," Jim tries but gets cut off again.

"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mister-" Spock walks closer to Jim.

Jim then cuts off Spock, "Every second we waste, Nero's getting closer to his next target."

"That is correct, and why I am instructing you to accept the fact that I alone-" Spock says.

"I will not allow us to go backward-" Jim growls.

"Jim!" Bones yells but doesn't get acknowledged.

"-instead of hunting Nero down!" Jim yells at Spock, making the Vulcan call for security to escort him out. Two security officers grab Jim and pull him, but then he starts fighting them off. I stand up and make my way over to the shouting men, but Spock beats me to it and does his Vulcan nerve pinch. Jim falls to the ground unconscious before the officers pick him up again.

"Get him off this ship," Spock commands as the officers take him to an escape pod and shoot him out onto Delta Vega.

Well, that's probably not the best idea.

'Yeah, that's a stupid idea.'

But he still did it. We will come back for you, Jim. Please stay safe.

=================================

Spock charted the course to the Laurentian system, which we were currently warping too. It had been a couple hours since Jim was shot off the ship. I had to get off the Bridge and clear my head, but it wasn't working that well.

Walking into engineering, there was barely anyone around, so it made it easy to relax. I closed my eyes and sigh, but of course, it was ruined by a body slamming into my own.

"Seriously," I grunt while rubbing my head. Hands grab my cheeks, making me look up at the damn person who ran into me.

"Hey, sorry, sweetheart," It was Jim. But how?

"How... what?" I start but muffled yelling, and banging got my attention. I look up and see a man in the water pipes, "Holy shit!" I yell, jumping up.

"Help me!" Jim yells, running after the man. I follow until we see the pipes take him directly to the spinning turbines. I start frantically looking around until I see the release valve and a computer. I run over and start typing to open the release valve, which I open in the end, and the man falls to the floor.

"You alright? You alright?!" Jim runs up and helps him sit. I run over and make sure that nothing is broken. "My heads buzzing, and I'm soaked, but otherwise, I'm fine!" The man says in a Scottish accent after coughing up some water.

"Okay." I start, taking a breath, "Who are you, and how did you both get on the ship? We're in warp!"

"Montgomery Scott or Scotty, at your service, lass!" He says, smiling and holds out his hand, to which I smile back and shake his hand. "Hailey Pike!"

I then shake my head, remembering they didn't answer one of my questions, "But how did you get onto the ship during warp?"

"Mr. Scott here has a theory of transwarp beaming," Jim answers, making my eyes widen. "You figured out how to beam aboard a ship during warp? So cool!" I exclaim. I was going to keep talking about his theory, but a thought passed my mind, "Jim, Spock is going to be pissed once he realizes you are here."

"That's why I have a plan."

"A plan?" My face then falls, and I put my hands up, "Actually, I don't want to know... the less I know, the better."

We then began running through engineering to get to the Bridge when security officers surrounded us on a walkway. "Halt!" He yelled at us, making us stop. It was the man that beat Jim up those years ago at the bar. I was behind Jim, so I don't think they saw me, "Come with me, Cupcake!"

Frustrated, I walk in front of Jim, making the officers tense up, "Commander!"

"What seems to be going on here?" I ask sternly, making everyone flinch.

"We were ordered to bring the trespassers to the Bridge to Commander Spock," He says after taking a breath.

"Okay."

"Okay, Commander?" He asks, confused.

"Escort us to the Bridge." This made the men nod, and we start our way to the Bridge once again.

Once on the Bridge, we were presented in front of Spock, "Who are you?" turning to Scotty. "I'm with him." He says at the same time, Jim says, "He's with me."

Spock then looks at me, making me shake my head and shrug. He nods and looks back at the two men next to me, "We're traveling at warp speed. How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?"

"You're the genius; you figure it out," Jim says, making Spock irritated.

"As Acting Captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question."

"Well, I'm not telling, Acting Captain. What di... What, now, that doesn't frustrate you, does it? My lack of cooperation. That, that doesn't make you angry." Jim says, but Spock doesn't give him the time of day.

"Are you a member of Starfleet?" Spock asks Scotty. "I.. um.. yes. Can I get a towel, please?"

"Under penalty of court-martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship while moving at warp," Spock demands, making Scotty fidget and stutter.

"Well..."

"Don't answer him."

"You will answer me."

"I'd rather not take sides," Scotty laughs nervously, which makes Spock look over at me.

"Hailey!"

"I know as much as you!"

'Liar!'

Shut the hell up!

"What is it with you, Spock? Hmm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you're not even upset." Jim says, testing the waters.

"If you're presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken," Spock replies to the man.

"And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command. Did you see his ship? Do you see what he did?" Jim asks.

"Yes, of course, I did," Spock answered.

"So, are you afraid, or aren't you?" Jim asks, getting closer to Spock, who wasn't moving.

"I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion," Spock replies with a straight face trying to calm down.

"Then, why don't you stop me." Jim taunted at the Vulcan

"Jim, you are dancing on dangerous waters right now," I state, but he keeps going.

"Step away from me, Mister-" Spock starts but gets talked over by Jim, "What is it like not to feel anger or heartbreak or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?"

"Back away from me-" But Jim keeps going, "You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You never loved her!"

Spock then lunges at Jim grabbing his throat and punching him several times. I yell at them, but they don't listen to me. They then end up at the helm console, and Spock was holding Jim down, strangling him. I run over and try pulling Spock off of Jim, but it doesn't work that well.

"Spock!" The said man then stops and looks behind him at his father. I pull him some more away from Jim and jump in between them. A look of realization took over his face before breathing in, "I am no longer fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command, based on the fact that I have been emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log." He then leaves the Bridge with his father in tow.

"I like this ship! You know, it's exciting." Scotty then says with a smile, making me lightly shake my head. I grabbed Jim by the hand and helped him up off the console before checking his red throat.

"Well, congratulations, Jim. Now we've got no Captain and no goddamn first officer to replace him." Bones says, frustrated.

"Yeah, we do." Jim coughs before taking the Captain's chair.

"What?" Bones asks, which Sulu answers, "Pike made him first officer."

"You've got to be kidding me." Bones grumbles, shaking his head. "Thanks for the support," Jim says sarcastically.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, Captain," Uhura says with a glare while walking next to the chair.

"So do I." Jim says lowly before talking over the comm, "Attention crew of the Enterprise, this is James Kirk. Mister Spock has resigned commission and advanced me to Acting Captain. I know you were all expecting to regroup with the fleet, but I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth. I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes. Either we're going down, or they are. Kirk out."

I walk up to the man in the Captain's chair and squeeze his shoulder, making him look up at me. I give him a small smile, which he returns and grabs my hand, squeezing it.

================================

Standing on the Bridge, we contemplated how to get on the Narada to stop Nero and save my father. But every idea got squished. Chekov was doing calculations on a board; Bones was grumbling while I rubbed my face.

"Whatever the case, we need to get aboard Nero's ship undetected," Jim says after another idea was shot down.

"And just go in there guns blazing, Jim. No..." Bones states as Sulu chimes in. "I'm telling you the math doesn't support..."

"Captain Kirk, Captain Kirk!" Chekov yells in his thick accent, getting the Captain's attention. "Yes, Chekov. What is it?"

"Based on the fastest course from Vulcan, I have projected that

Nero will travel past Saturn. Like you said, we need to stay invisible to Nero, or he'll destroy us. If Mister Scott can get us to warp factor four, and if we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn's moons, say, Titan, the magnetic distortion from the planet's rings will make us invisible to Nero's sensors. From there, as long as the drill is not activated, we can beam aboard the enemy ship." Checkov states, making me nod while going through all the calculations in my head.

"Aye, that might work," Scotty says.

"Wait a minute, kid, how old are you?" Bones asks while his arms are crossed.

"Seventeen, sir."

"Oh, oh good, he's seventeen."

"Doctor, Mister Chekov is correct," Spock says, coming onto the Bridge through the door. "I can confirm his telemetry. If Mister Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero's ship, steal back the black hole device, and, if possible, bring back Captain Pike.

"I won't allow you to do that, Mister Spock," Jim says, standing up and walking over to him, making me go over too.

"Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ship's computer to locate the device. Also, my mother was Human, which makes Earth the only home I have left." Spock replies to the blue-eyed Captain.

"I'm coming with you." Jim states making Spock raise an eyebrow, "I would cite regulation, but I know you will simply ignore it." Spock answers.

"See, we are getting to know each other." Jim pats Spock's shoulder, making Spock blink in surprise.

"Well, let's turn this duo into a trio because I'm coming with." I state, smiling at the two men, "And DO NOT try to stop me because my father is on that ship, and you both are weak as hell and can't physically stop me." Smiling, I walk past the boys who are just staring.

"Well, are you coming or not!" I yell, making them flinch and run after me.

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marvellous-fangirl · 5 years ago

Text

Infinity War - Part 2

You fight Thanos on Titan, but when you and Tony are almost killed, Dr Strange gives Thanos the Time Stone. You end up losing Peter in the snap.

Promises Chapter 7 Prev // Next

Word Count: 2,440

Pairings: Peter x Reader, Dad!Tony x Reader

Warnings: small angst, minor injury detail?, the snap

A/N: I cried a little bit while writing this

A cloud of blue appeared out of thin air, and a tall, hulking, purple figure stepped through. Your heart was racing. You could hear Peter’s scared breathing beside you and you squeezed his hand. “Oh yeah.” You heard Strange say. “You’re much more of a Thanos.” “I take it the Maw is dead.” Thanos said. “This day extracts a heavy toll.” His footsteps were heavy. “Still - he accomplished his mission.” “You may regret that. He brought you face to face with the Master of the Mystic Arts.” Peter squeezed your hand back. You both peered over the rubble of the ship you were hiding on and looked down on the pair. Then you pulled Peter back away from the side so that neither of you would be spotted. “Let me guess. Your home?” Strange asked about the planet you were hiding on. “It was. And it was beautiful.” A metallic note rang through the air and you and Peter stared around in awe as somehow the planet was pieced back together to reveal a city. “Titan was like most planets. Too many mouths and not enough to go around.” Thanos continued bitterly. “And when we faced extinction, I offered a solution.” “Genocide.” Strange finished. “At random. Dispassionate. Fair to rich and poor alike. They called me a madman. Then what I predicted came to pass.” “Congratulations. You’re a prophet.” Strange said, with so much sarcasm he sounded like your dad. “I’m a survivor.” “Who wants to murder trillions.” “With all six stones I could simply snap my fingers and they would all cease to exist and I call that mercy.” Strange stood. “And then what.” “I finally rest.” You shared a look with Peter, who had his mask retracted. You pressed the button for him and it crawled over his face. “And watch the sun rise on a grateful universe. The hardest choices require the strongest wills.” “I think you’ll find our will equal to yours.” You heard Strange’s powers and you knew that was your cue. “Our?” Thanos asked and he looked up as darkness fell over him. You watched your dad pushing a large chunk of rubble down towards him and some sort of purple energy protected Thanos as it crashed down. Both you and Peter launched yourselves off of the ship you were on top of, Peter slinging webs at Thanos and covering his eyes, while you worked on providing force fields around anyone too close to the titan. Drax came charging towards Thanos with his knives and began to parry with him, as Strange conjured a weapon and joined in. Quill flew by and shot electrocuting devices at his back and you heard Strange whisper something to his cloak, which instantly soared into the air. It wrapped itself around his hand and as much as Thanos tried to pry it off, he had no success. Strange conjured a portal and Peter came leaping through as you threw darts of matter at Thanos, causing him to yell. “Magic!” Peter yelled, as he jumped from portal to portal, throwing a punch that the titan. “More magic!” He grabbed Thanos’ head and swung past, throwing off his balance. “Magic with a kick!” He soared past again, kicking him in the face. “Magic with a-“ Thanos caught Peter by the neck and forced him to the ground. Peter struggled under the enormous hand and you yelled loudly, charging towards him. You reinforced your hits with your powers and used your discs to run at his head height, where you let lose a flurry of blows, causing him to yell and turn. You ran circles around him launching throwing stars similar to your platforms and Thanos released his grip on Peter as he covered his face. Strange appeared out of another portal with a new sword which Thanos caught. He tore the spiderwebs off his eyes and crushed the sword to dust as Quill approached. Thanos kicked Strange away and you conjured a forcefield to protect him as he conjured more weapons.

You created platforms for Quill to run on and he leapt from them towards Thanos, where he placed a device on the titan’s back while shooting at him with his guns. “Boom!” He shouted as he flipped off the titan and jumped backwards through a portal. Your dad came soaring past, firing at him with the hundreds of tiny missiles that he had stowed away in his suit. Somehow Thanos absorbed all of the flames and launched them back at your dad, who you protected with a force field as he span away. Strange conjured ropes of molten metal, which went shooting towards the gauntlet and entwined around his palm. Drax skidded by and kicked down one of Thanos’ legs, so he was on one knee. Quill fired yet another of his devices at the floor and Thanos’ other arm was trapped in it. Peter came crashing down, firing webs of all kinds at the titan and soon he was wrapped up like a cocoon. You clambered up on top of the hulking figure as Mantis jumped through a portal above and landed on his shoulders. You held Thanos in a headlock and both you and Mantis worked together to restrain him mentally. Your dad came flying back out of nowhere and grabbed the gauntlet. Strange swapped to Thanos’ other hand to leave Tony with it. “Help! Get over here! They can’t hold him much longer.” He shouted to Peter and he came running towards Tony, also grabbing hold of the gauntlet and pulling as hard as they could. Quill came flying from behind and landed in front of Thanos. “Where is she.” He growled, spitting in the titan’s face. “Not now Quill!” You yelled, straining to keep Thanos at bay. “He is in anguish!” Mantis said weakly as Thanos tried to fight beneath them wearily. “He mourns!” Nebula appeared from nowhere. “He took her to Vormir.” She said calmly. “He came back with the soul stone. But she didn’t.” “Ok Quill. You gotta cool it right now. You understand?” Tony said. “Quill wait! You can have him in a second just wait!” You screamed, loosening one of your hands from Thanos’ temples and using it to push Quill away. You yelled as your powers drained and Quill began to push forward with his guns outstretched. “NO YOU DIDN’T!” He yelled, reaching them and beginning to beat Thanos with his guns. Mantis fell away and Tony launched towards Quill to retrain him. You clambered around Thanos’ shoulders where Mantis had been and tried to hold him yourself. “ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING ITS COMING!” Peter hurried, the gauntlet sliding off Thanos’ hand. But you couldn’t hold him anymore. The world darkened as everyone was forced away from Thanos, who grabbed the gauntlet from Peter and slid it back onto his hand. The last thing you saw before losing consciousness was the glow of an infinity stone and something large entering the upper atmosphere.

Peter scrambled over to your body, grabbing a hold of you and scurrying away from the fight. Thanos was using the infinity stones and Peter looked up to see a planet being torn apart and crash down on top of them. He used his webs to wrap you close to him as the metal legs shot out of his suit and he rolled out of the paths of the hurtling rocks. Your dad flew up towards the planet as with as much speed as he could and tried to force it away from the surface, but he was buried beneath it. Everyone went flying into the air. Peter launched himself to join them, catching them with his webs and sticking them to the sides of the ship, leaving you there with them as he went to catch the others. “I got you! I got you! Sorry I can’t remember anybody’s names!” He huffed. You opened one eye to watch the battlefield. It was all so.. loud. Then you saw fire raining from the sky and you snapped awake, watching as Strange’s form began to duplicate. They all conjured whips and aimed them at Thanos, each one ensnaring him, forming a net of magic. He roared and the sound of an infinity stone rang through the air as Strange’s forms evaporated and he went tumbling backwards. Thanos launched a portal at Strange, who protected himself and the portal shattered into hundreds of green butterflies. You slipped out of Peter’s webs and landed lightly on your feet, your invisibility falling over you. The titan and the wizard began to battle, firing beams of energy at each other. Then the planet’s surface began to roll towards Thanos and he caught Strange by the neck. “You’re full of tricks wizard.” He granted Strange, reaching towards the Eye of Agamotto and breaking it from Strange’s neck. “But you never once used your greatest weapon.” And he cracked the stone’s protection as Strange yelled out. His palm was empty. He looked around in confusion. Your dad fired a device at the gauntlet which stopped Thanos from closing his hand and he roared in indignation. “If you throw another moon at me.” Tony said, out of breath and thousands of more tiny missiles launched out of his suit. Thanos pried the device out of his palm and used the power stone to aim a blast at your dad. A shield had already popped out of his suit and he swerved out of the way after the initial hit. Your dad used weapon after weapon, each one getting larger than the last and Thanos grabbed him, then peeled the front of his helmet off to reveal the shock on Tony’s face. Another regrew instantly, but you watched as your dad began to lose his edge and Thanos was soon towering over him, beating him to oblivion. His suit was rapidly disintegrating and he formed a dagger to attempt and stab Thanos but the titan caught it and snapped it off. Before you could do anything, the knife was plunged into your dad’s abdomen and you charged towards the pair of them, fury pumping in your blood.

“When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive.” Thanos assured him as he set him down. You let out a guttural yell and ran at full pelt, bearing down on Thanos. You didn’t care what you had to do. You just threw everything you could. Punches, kicks, discs, knives, magic. Anything you could conjure. You screamed, not caring about revealing your position, as you rained fire upon the titan, forming two daggers and digging one right into the side of his face. He roared. He caught you by the throat as you tried to strike again and Tony cried out. Your invisibility fell away as you struggled for air. He threw you onto the ground next to your father. “All that for a drop of blood?” He asked and you bared your teeth, and sucking in sharp breaths as your body screamed in agony. “If you can make a God bleed, the people will cease to believe in him.” You hissed and Thanos chuckled. He readied the infinity stones. “I promise you little one. This is mercy.” He said, aiming them at you and your dad. Tony was wheezing and placed an arm around you. You curled up next to him and closed your eyes, waiting for your end.

“Stop!” Called Strange. Your eyes flickered open. “Spare their lives.” He said and you choked. “Don’t.” Tony said. You shook your head at Strange. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He did. Strange slowly reached up his hand and seemed to pluck a star out of the sky. The time stone sat between his fingers. He passed it to Thanos, who placed it into the gauntlet and you felt tears pricking your eyes. “One to go.” Said the titan. Suddenly Quill appeared from nowhere and began to fire at Thanos, yelling in anger, but the titan merely chuckled and walked through a portal. He was gone. “Did we just lose?” Quill asked, fear in his eyes. Tony turned to Strange. “Why would you do that?” He said weakly and your cheeks grew wet. “We’re in the endgame now.” Was all Strange said and your head fell into your hands.

“Y/N? Y/N?!” Peter called from far away. He came charging through the deserted battlefield, then saw you lying with your dad. “Y/N!” He crashed into you, scooping you into his arms. “I- I didn’t know where you were! I thought he got you!” He said, shaking and you curled tightly into his chest. He saw the knife in Tony’s abdomen. “Oh my God Mr Stark are you ok? What happened?” “We lost kid.” Quill said, sitting on a rock, head in his hands. “But- But we’re the Avengers! We can’t lose!” He said weakly and you looked up and met his eyes, your own welling with tears. “We can’t have lost..” he trailed off. “I’m sorry.” You whispered and he shook his head. “It’s not your fault.” He pulled you close again and you felt his own tears falling into your hair.

Everyone was quiet on Titan, silently regrouping. Suddenly Mantis froze. “Somethings happening.” She said, looking around. Then slowly, her body began to crumble. Drax was still as she disappeared beside him. One by one, they began to turn to dust, blowing away on the breeze. Thanos had done it. You couldn’t believe that he had done it. Then you heard a voice you didn’t want to hear. “Uh.” Peter said. “I don’t feel so good.” And he stumbled into your arms. Tears were brewing in your eyes and you could see Peter’s were already overflowing. “I don’t wanna go please.” He whimpered into your shoulder. “I’m scared” he sobbed. You began to shake. “I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go.” He kept saying over and over. “Then don’t go.” You sobbed, hugging Peter tightly. You tripped and you fell on top of him. “Peter you promised.” You choked. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.” And the tears began to fall. “Y/N please I don’t wanna go.” “Peter.” “Please Y/N.” “Peter please don’t leave me.” “I..” “Please.” You breathed. “I’m sorry.” And you felt his body begin to give way. You pressed your lips against his as they disappeared. You fell onto the floor, where he had been, sobs shaking your body. You waited and waited for the snap to greet you too. But it didn’t come. And despite still having your dad and Nebula beside you.

You had never felt more alone in your life.

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thethespacecoyote · 6 years ago

Text

“Under the Wire”

Jack felt something in his stomach the entire meal, divorced entirely from the steak of exotic meat and heavy wine the chieftain plied the grand table with. Something that had him hoping Rhys’ lips might get a little looser as the night went on. For most of dinner he continued in a state of interest and amusement, barely paying their host and his staff much mind aside from the occasional nod and noncommittal response.

And yet—even bogged down with food and alcohol and distracting omega scent—Jack was a hard man to take unawares.

He noticed a shifting in the chieftain’s guard, weapons that had stayed stiff and to attention all night lowering. Then, a shadow flittering in the balcony of the second floor overlooking the dining room. Then, the chieftain raising his glass in a silent, mock toast, sullen eyes glimmering with something cruel.

Jack spotted the red dot on Rhys’ chest a moment too late.

Assassination attempt style hurt/comfort fic in the vein of the Rival CEOs AU! Had fun with this. Will be cross-posted to Ao3 in a moment.

It’s not the first fancy dinner turned firefight Jack has been through—and knowing his dangerous lifestyle and coveted position, it won’t be the last—but he’s having a lot less fun at this one than the others.

Only cowards utilize the element of surprise, and Jack should’ve pegged the bloated, self-proclaimed chieftain of the for one the moment he realized the useless bastard was barely competent enough to rule over a woefully underpopulated planet from his sprawling mansion. But he’d taken up the invitation to dinner anyway as a sign of goodwill after the recent, three-way treat established between the Cornelian, Hyperion, and Atlas.

All right. The attendance of his rival might’ve been the real motivation that had driven Jack to attend the dinner in the first place. And Rhys ended up looking beautiful when he showed up, cutting a sharp and elegant figure against the gaudy golden decor of the mansion, dressed in all black with hints of silver, gold, and red peppered from boot to collar.

Jack hated that he didn’t wind up seated next to Rhys, with a couple of nobody locals gussied up and taking up space between them, but that didn’t stop the alpha from shooting flirty winks and mouthing dirty things in Rhys’ direction. The omega batted him back with a sour grin, though Jack thought he caught a smile when Rhys ducked his lips into his wine glass.

And yet—even bogged down with food and alcohol and distracting omega scent—Jack was a hard man to take unawares.

Jack spotted the red dot on Rhys’ chest a moment too late.

When the first shot fired the entire party exploded—screams, crashing plates, scattering glasses—it all went off like a grenade that blew Jack up and out of his chair just as bullets shredded its velvety cushions. The alpha sobered in an instant, grasping at his belt as he darted for cover, brain frantically grasping hold of the situation, the depths of betrayal.

And that’s how Jack ended up here, hunched behind a collapsed statue with his teeth gritted and pistol clenched in his hand.

Jack can’t see Rhys from his position any longer, but he remembers how the omega had collapsed, body limp and lifeless as stone. Hair thrown out of its perfect style and covering his face. Blood seeping into his dark clothes.

Jack’s fingers shake in their tight grip around his pistol. If he can’t do anything more for Rhys, then he can at least scrub the bastards that killed him off the planet.

He has already shot and killed the chieftain, taking care of the slimy bastard as he caught him fleeing the scene of the massacre he himself set into motion. Jack had plugged him right between the shoulder blades, regretting he couldn’t see the bastard’s face as life left his eyes. But the bullets continued flying, forcing Jack behind the table he currently crouches behind, periodically firing around the edge to take out the remaining assassins.

Anger makes his shots wild, his own instinct of self-preservation waning as he thinks of Rhys, of how quickly his life was stolen away by cretins not worthy enough to lick the blood from his boots. He manages still to strike the last of the chieftain’s guard—dressed for ceremony, not defense—but at least two black-clad assassins remain. He’s already called for the backup and medical team stationed in reserve within his shuttle, but they’ll have to comb through the guards in the rest of the mansion first, and there’s no telling how quickly they’ll arrive.

Sweat-soaked hair fans wildly about his face as he bolts from his position behind the statue and races towards a sturdy couch flipped onto its side. He leaps in the air as the carpet beneath him explodes from the assassin’s rifle, throwing his firing arm out and shooting not towards either of the men but instead to the pendulous metal chandelier hovering above, laden heavily with artificial candles. The chain tethering it to the ceiling bursts, and just as the fixture starts to hurtle towards the ground Jack tucks his head down and rolls over his shoulder, clearing the last couple of feet behind the couch.

A deafening crash fills the room, punctuating by a couple definitive screams of pain. Jack counts his heartbeats, waiting to hear any sounds in the aftermath, before poking his head around the side of the couch.

He inches forward on his knees, tentative, when he sees no assailants left standing. The chandelier has crushed part of the main table, buckling the other half up at an angle. Cheap iron lies broken over the floor, strewn with the wire innards of fake lighting. Jack pushes himself up to half his full height, still keeping a small target as he creeps forward, scanning the debris. He sniffs, trying to pick out a familiar scent amidst the smell of blood and shattered furnishings.

Something prickles at Jack’s nose out of the carnage, and his heart yearns with recognition—a faint drift of cologne, more expensive than anything these wannabes could afford, smothering up the smell of something sweet and delicate and achingly familiar.

He lowers his gun as he tries to zero in on the scent, to figure out whether it still belongs to someone living and needing of rescue.

A pile of debris in Jack’s periphery suddenly shifts, and before he can whip his gun back around and aim something hard and burning slams into his stomach and knocks him off his feet. Jack’s vision pops as his back and skull crack against the ground, stunning him and pain sizzles from the fresh wound in his side. The grip of the pistol knocks from his hand and as he scrabbles for it his suddenly clumsy fingers only knock it further away. He swears, throat thick and voice hoarse.

His other hand presses into his stomach to asses the wound, and through bleary eyes he can see his palm come away red and glistening and damn it, that’s bad. And what’s even worse is the sight of the surviving assassin pushing up from the ground where he previously lied unseen. He brushes dust and clinging rubble off his sleeves, before turning towards the downed CEO.

Jack hisses and spits a little blood over his lips as he tries to pull himself up into a sitting position despite the screaming wound in his side. He coughs against the pain, eyes flicking from where his gun lies just out of reach to the assassin now walking towards him.

Jack wheezes with effort as he tries willing his legs to move but they lock stiff out in front of him, like dead weight he wishes he could hack off. The assassin soon looms over him, face covered in marble dust but settled in grim triumphant. Blood stains his hair but he’s in far better shape than Jack, and his gun sits in his hand rather than knocked an impossible distance away. Jack glares up at him, trying to look intimidating even as he rests back on his elbows, blood seeping out from his wound onto the ruined floor.

“Almost feel like I should thank you for taking out the old bastard…” The assassin tips the barrel of his rifle around in a circle. “Guess this place’ll be mine now, huh? Soon as I get rid of you and anyone coming to get you.”

A disloyal hired gun, huh? Shocker, Jack thought grimly, trying to keep his strength from faltering.

There’s still a chance he can make a break for it, surely. He’s Handsome-frikkin’-Jack after all, but suddenly as he stares down the barrel of the assassin’s gun in a destroyed room quiet with death, a thought blooms to just let it all go.

Even through endless violence and betrayal Jack had always pressed forward—in a way some around him might consider single-minded, but it’d brought him to dizzying heights of success so what did they know—but now he thinks of how his life will be if he does manage to escape through some kind of miracle. He’ll be alive, sure. But without Rhys there to tease him and tempt him and light a fire under his ass, he wonders if it’ll at all be worthwhile.

For the first time, the future feels hollow.

The rifle fires. Jack doesn’t even hear it go off. He lets his eyes slip half-shut with the flash of the muzzle—ready to accept nothingness—when something brilliant and gold suddenly flashes across his vision.

“Jack!”

The voice cuts across the CEO’s waning consciousness and snaps him back to attention. He jerks his head to the right just in time to see another figure sway up out of the carnage of the dinner, glinting chrome arm extended out from under a tattered sleeve. Jack’s heart leaps in his chest.

“K…Kiddo?”

Rhys’ palm and ECHOeye burns with the same golden energy that wavers out in a barrier in front of Jack, allowing the alpha to quickly put the pieces together

It’s an Atlas shield, cast remotely in a wide swathe separating Jack’s injured body from his assailant. The bullet, intended for Jack’s skull, hovers harmless in midair, stopped dead in its tracks by the energy emanating from Rhys’ palm. Jack has never heard, never imagined such a thing, but the omega wields it effortlessly—or as effortlessly as he can with wounds punched into his thigh and stomach.

The assassin shouts in surprise at the sudden neutralizing of his killing blow, but before he can do anything Rhys shifts his outstretched hand towards him.

The omega screams from the effort as he flings his arm out to the side, glowing energy of the shield briefly sucking back over the suspended bullet like water funneled down a small drain. Jack swears the bullet glows, threaded with shield’s energy and burning hot like a star a split second before it fires back where it came, splitting the bullet of the assassin’s gun before piercing him in the chest. He falls, dying cry cut off as his spine snaps back over the edge of the upturned table fragment

Even from a few feet away, with his vision swimming, Jack can see Rhys trembling, even the usually steady silver fingers of his cybernetic arm shaking. It falls to his side after a moment of heavy breathing, the silence of the room settling in now that every assassin had been dispatched. There may be survivors among the bodies but no ones moves and Jack’s attention shrinks only to Rhys as the omega hobbles on over to him.

“Kiddo…” Jack scrapes up his voice, watching Rhys struggle with a limp, boot dragging a trail of blood over the floor.

Rhys doesn’t make it all the way, falling to his hands and knees with a tight gasp. His arms tremble, and Jack worries he’ll collapse right there, just out of Jack’s grasp. But Rhys’ fingers curl, digging into the floor beneath him, and with a series of labored exhales manages to pull himself the rest of the way to Jack’s side.

“This…this hurts like hell…” Rhys moans, pressing his flesh hand to his side as he lies down besides Jack, face now only a couple inches away. He looks too pale, skin ashen and plastered to his cheekbones. The little purplish crescents under his eyes that Jack mocked him for earlier look darker now, no longer lifted by the intelligent twinkle in his eyes.

“Shoud’ve known, dinner with you...always ends in disaster...” Rhys tries to joke, but it’s growing noticeably harder for him to get the words out.

“Hey, shh…hang in there…” Jack whispers, his own throat tightening with pain. The wound in his side twitches, staining more blood into his sweater. Damn thing would have to be cleaned. Probably even patched up again.

Rhys, though, Rhys would probably wind up buying an entirely new outfit before he even considered patching it up. Maybe Jack should get him something nice. A “congrats on surviving your first assassination attempt” gift.

Not that they were out of the woods yet. Jack could hear a commotion outside of the sealed room—hopefully medics responding to his distress call.

“Jack…” Rhys gasps suddenly, the faintness of his voice twisting Jack’s stomach. “I…”

“Shh.” The alpha has a bit of strength left, using it to cradle the side of Rhys’ face. Unusual intimacy between them. Jack figured Rhys didn’t mind, not when they were both bleeding out. “I’m here with you, pumpkin.”

He breathed his scent out through his nose, as heavily as he could muster, hoping it might drift through the stench of blood and sizzled flesh and comfort Rhys. Jack pushes fingers back through the injured omega’s hair, streaking the auburn locks even darker.

“…Don’t let me go…” Rhys whispers, fresh blood seeping in a clean line from the edge of his lips, spilling towards the floor in a small puddle. Jack’s thumb strokes at the omega’s temple, watching his eyelids flutter as the banging sounds of the medics forcing their way into the dining room grow fainter. His faltering perception shrinks to Rhys and he keeps stroking his face, long after the omega’s eyelids fall closed, bloody lips parted around words Jack wishes he could hear.

Jack furrows his brow when the first thing he smells upon waking is disinfectant.

Eyesight comes back to him slowly, slower than his sense of touch and scent. He tips his head blindly to the side, latching onto the hint of something sweet underneath the smell of sterility and old blood. His hand lifts like the air is too heavy around it, fingers brushing up against something warm and solid lying in the stiff sheets next to him. He presses in, feeling skin and slack muscle.

When Jack finally manages to open his eyes it still takes a couple more seconds for his vision to restore, but when colors and shapes manage to cling together he can make out a pale, gentle face mere inches from his own, lips pink and parted around even breaths.

Jack starts with recognition, his hand gripping Rhys’ flesh arm even tighter. Breath wheezes against his sore throat, and when he tries to sit up his side pinches with pain. He hisses, momentarily pulling his eyes away from Rhys to look down his body. From beneath the hem of papery, pale blue pajamas, he can see a swath of white bandages peaking out.

Right.

Jack lays his head back against the pillow beneath him, turning his eyes back to Rhys. It’s a strange mirror of how they’d lied, bleeding out against the shattered floor of some nobody’s mansion.

There’s only inches of space between them. Jack thinks it’s weird and kind of presumptuous that the medics put them in the same bed, but then he realizes he’s lying atop the sheets and the tube of the IV in his arm is tugging tautly against where it’s fixed against his skin. He puts it together with a small chuckle.

“Just can’t…keep me ‘way from you kiddo…” Jack murmured, inching a little closer to Rhys and resting their foreheads together. The omega’s scent is muted but present, steady as the pulse thrumming under his skin as Jack lifts his hand and rests it against the side of Rhys’ throat.

He feels exhaustion pulling back on him, but now that he can see that Rhys is safe and healing, Jack figures there’s not much harm in letting go and enjoying a rare, intimate moment with his rival.

#spacetext #long post #rhack #fanfic #tftbl #omegaverse

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 7 years ago

Note

How does Kara meet James in the Cool Aunt Kara AU?

I swore I would incorporate this into this AU, so here we go:

“Whatdid I say?”

“...Isnow really a good time—”

“What.Did I say?”

Clarksighs, and hefts an SUV onto his shoulders.

“...Stayaway from LexCorp.”

“Stay.Away. From LexCorp,” Kara repeats. Then, she throws her arms outwide, gesturing to the surrounding chaos. “This does not look like'staying away' to me, Kal.”

Clarkmoves the car to a safer area, calling over his shoulder as he doesso. “Not our finest hour, I'll admit.”

“I told you this would happen!” Kara continues, still irate. “Ispecifically said, 'Clark—stay away from Lex. He'll turn you and/oryour friend into a giant rampaging turtle monster.'”

“Ithought that was...some weird sort of figure of speech,” Clarksays, and, catching Kara's withering stare, “oh, don't look at melike that. It sounded ridiculous, and you know it.”

“Andyet,” Kara points to the giant rampaging turtle monster, “herewe are.”

“Youcan lecture me later,” Clark assures her. “For now—can we focuson saving Jimmy?”

“We'rewaiting for Lex,” Kara says with a wince as James roars, lashingout at one of the bridge towers. Both cousins take to the skies,flying in erratic patterns, trying to keep James' attention on them,as opposed to his current fixation: picking a fight with thebridge.

“Whatdid he want this time?” Clark asks, having dealt with the CEOenough times to know that working with Lex usually comes with aprice.

Jamesswats almost blindly, flailing his large, scaly limbs as fast as hecan manage which—as he is currently a turtle—is not all thatfast.

“Nothing,”Kara tells him, though he detects an incredulous air; her frown seemsto support this conclusion. “Yet, anyway.”

There'sa sudden blast from somewhere upriver, from the northern side ofMetropolis. Clark startles.

“Military?”he asks, worried. Well, more worried than he was before.

“Maybe,”Kara squints towards the source of the sound. “I thought Lois saidshe'd stall the General?”

“Shesaid she'd try.”

Butit's not the military. Rather, it's a blue blur that hurtles towardsthe bridge, shooting past the two Kryptonians, circling James, andultimately coming to a stop five feet over the bridge, beforedropping to the asphalt.

LexLuthor.

Wearingsome sort of ridiculous armored...suit...thing...and looking smug asever.

“KeepJames distracted,” Kara tells Clark, “And away from the tower.”

“Gotit,” Clark says, racing off.

Karatouches down in front of Lex, not at all looking forward to the ensuing conversation.

“Doyou have the antidote?” she asks, dispensing with any sort ofpleasantries.

“Ido,” Lex smiles. It's fairly chilling. Kara represses a reflexiveshudder. “Armed and ready to go.” He whips out a small device,vaguely gun-shaped, and loaded with a vial of bright blue liquid.

Karaeyes his suit.

“Isuspect you'll want to administer it?” she asks, as there are fewthings Lex loves more than his face on the front page of the Planet.

“Naturally,”Lex nods. “Though I'll need him to stand relatively still, so youand your...sidekick...will have to keep him occupied.”

“Fine,” Kara sighs. “You get the credit, and Ja—this innocentbystander—gets the antidote.” she readies to leave, but Lexdoesn't move.

Hejust...smiles that smug smile of his, and appears...almostthoughtful.

“Youmake it sound as though we're square,” he says.

Karanarrows her eyes. “Well. Aren't we?”

“Hardly.Do you know how much this project cost?” he gestures to James.

Karacrosses her arms. “No, Lex. I don't know how much 'giant mutantturtle monster' projects usually run, these days.”

“Itwas a significant investment. Add to that the delays, the destructionof private property, the trespassing...”

AndKara wants to kill Clark, because he's given Luthor the onething—the one thing—the man needs to level the playing field between them.

Leverage.

“Whatdo you want.”

Lexshrugs.

“Idon't know yet,” he says. “But I definitely want something.”His grin is an awful thing, thin and yet, somehow, all teeth. “Youcan owe me.”

Karascowls, and James roars; there's an ominous, metallic groan comingfrom the bridge.

“Fine,”she spits. “Fine, Lex. Just. Help him.”

Lexdoes, engaging the flight controls on his suit and shooting upwardsinto the air. Kara is close behind, and joins Clark in circlingJames, keeping his eyes on them, and not on Lex.

Lex raises the gun, takes aims, and

[Whathappens next defies several known laws of physics, and some of theunknown laws of physics as well, and can really only bedescribed in terms that neither the human mind nor theKryptonian mind can fully comprehend—thus, it is in everyone's bestinterest to skip ahead exactly eight minutes:]

“Sothat happened,” Clark says, helping his friend to his feet,offering him his cape to cover the ruined jeans and polo.

“Uh...”James mumbles, still half out of it. “What happened,exactly? I'm...I'm having a hard time—”

“Ishould take him back to LexCorp for further testing,” Lex insists,taking a step towards James. Before he can so much as blink,Kara is blocking his path, arms crossed, eyes blazing.

“No,”she says, low and firm. “You've done your part, Lex. And the pressis on their way. You stay here, and smile for the cameras—we'lldo the follow-up, thanks.”

Lexrecoils, as though slapped. “Do I need to remind you,” he snarls,“that you owe me?”

“Sois this it, then? You're calling in your favor now?” Kara raises aneyebrow. “That's fine by me. More than fine, actually.”

Lexopens his mouth, but all that comes out is a strangled puff of air.

“What'llit be, Lex?” Kara's voice takes on a mocking edge. “Are wesquare?”

“Takehim,” Lex grunts, throwing up his hands and stalking off towardsthe police barricade at the end of the bridge. “Take him. I'llcollect my payment...some other time.”

Karamakes a show of rolling her eyes, you don't scare me, Luthor, eventhough he does.

“Comeon, Kal,” Kara says. Clark scoops up a disoriented James, and theyhead for the Fortress.

WhenJames comes to, several hours later, he is:

Freezing

Free of scales, shells, and an urge to destroy local infrastructure

Confused as to why that thought even crosses his mind

Seriously freezing.

Sohe knows, before he sits up and looks around, that he's at theFortress. Which means whatever went down prior to this? was bad.

Not that he’s surprised. Clark’s cousin warned him about Lex, but Clark had gone ahead with the investigation anyway, and James had followed, because, well. He was young, and reckless, and very much caught up in the thrill of being pals with a superhero.

“Oh,hey, you're not dead,” a relieved voice sounds from somewherebehind him. “That's—that's really great. It was...touchand go there for a while.”

“Supergirl?”James croaks.

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at the ground. “I‘m never going to shake that name.”

“Yup,”Clark joins them. “Not unless Cat decides to switch things up inthose op-ed piec—uh, what...?” his cousin is no longer glaring at the floor, but rather, is glaring daggers athim. “Um. Am I missing something? Did she finally decide to stopinsulting—”

“Kal,”Kara hisses, and says something in a language that definitely isn’t English.

Andthen Clark chuckles nervously.

“Ah,see, funny thing.”

James knows a reprimand when he sees one--that sort of thing tends to transcend language. He makes an educated guess as to the subject, and extends his hand for a shake in an effort to keep the peace.

“Souh,” he starts, “I know Clark is Superman. And Ialso know you're the only section editor I've ever met whoactually bothers to learn the interns' names.”

There'sa split second of hesitation; James suspects she's deciding whetheror not she can come up with a lie good enough to get out of this.

Theanswer to that silent question must be 'no,' because after a resignedsigh, she shakes his hand, the smile on her face tentative.

“Niceto formally meet you, James Olsen,” she says.

Hesmiles back. “Likewise, Miss Kent.”

#stranger writes #cool aunt kara au #supergirl fic #also to clarify: the age difference + power imbalance is such in this AU that kara x james won't be a thing #...man I gotta make a timeline for this thing #long post #Anonymous

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thathopelessromantic · 7 years ago

Text

throwing kisses from the sky (1/?)

Things seemed simple enough: Get supplies from base to base without being discovered and tortured by the Galra. Repeat until a turn in the war, or you die, whichever comes first.

Lance really should have figured out by now that nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.

AO3: (x)

Water black As the moon is full Warm nightbreeze whispers I'm naked and new I know you're always throwing kisses from the sky Well, tonight I caught one

-Shekina, Blindside

“Flight log 5-2-26, begin ascent for getaway!” Lance shouted with a laugh, gunning them forward before the ship doors fully closed. A crash came from the back, followed by a groan.

“Lance! Can’t you keep this thing straight?” Pidge griped from besides him as she struggled into her seat.

“And warn us before shooting off like that?” Hunk added, from, what sounded like, the floor.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’ve been flying with me this long and you still don’t have your sea legs? C’mon, speedy getaways are our thing.”

Before Hunk could come up with any kind of response, a rapid beeping started up from a scanner in front of Pidge. She hissed sharply. “I’d like not dying to be our thing-bank right.”

“Yeesh, testy. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the spaceship.” Lance teased. He chanced a glance down at the scanner. Three ships in pursuit. With a sharp tug on the yoke, he sent them to the right.

“Up. Up, up, up!” Pidge shouted the moment they straightened out again, choosing to ignore Lance’s teasing for the sake of getting them out of there. “Lance, seriously, they’re gaining on us!”

Lance chanced a second look. Four cruisers. “We can take ‘em.”

“Lance!”

“Alright, alright I’m going.”

They shot forward. Dodging shots and slipping over parked ships, the end of the docking platform appeared in the horizon, seconds away from them. Suddenly something hit the side of the ship. Veering far to the left, Lance and Pidge scrambled to steady themselves, just enough to make it to the exit.

“Hunk, what the hell is going on?” Lance asked through grit teeth. The whole ship shook with the effort of staying upright. Pidge began tapping away rapidly at the controls but nothing gained any kind of response from the ship.

“They hit a stabilizer. I’m gonna have to try and fix it manually from the back.” Hunk answered finally, voice wavering uncertainly.

Pidge glanced back at him and winced. “He doesn’t look too good.”

Lance tightened his grip on the yoke, hunkering down for a bumpy ride. Two more of the thin Galra cruisers appeared, this time directly in front of them. “None of us are gonna look good if they catch up. Hold on.”

It took Pidge all of three seconds to realize what Lance was thinking of doing. “Lance, no.”

Despite the sirens blaring, and the ship going haywire, Lance grinned. “C’mon, no worries. My first year at the academy, know what they called me? ‘The Tailor.’ Because of how I thread the needle.”

“You didn’t go to the academy!” Hunk shouted back as he left the bridge.

“How do you think I learned how to fly?”

Turbulence from a ship starting up below them sent the ship off course again. Somewhere in the back, Hunk groaned. Pidge all but slammed her head against the wall as Lance struggled to right them again. “I didn’t think you ever did!” She snapped.

“Buddy, we are really gonna need that stabilizer! Like yesterday!” Lance shouted over her.

If Hunk replied, he was too far back for them to hear. With a grunt, Lance leaned forward. “This is going to be rough sailing.”

Pidge muttered something beside him, just quiet enough that he couldn’t catch it.

Lance flipped the switch in front of him and a seatbelt strapped over his waist from the arm of the control seat. Thank the gods for Pidge’s modifications. The sensors shrieked with the warning of the Galra ships closing in on them, but Lance tuned the noise out as he narrowed in on the two before them. Taking a deep breath, he said a quick prayer and twisted the controls, hard. Flying almost entirely vertical, they slipped right between the cruisers. A crash behind them sent them hurtling through the air, but one by one the cruisers blinked off their sensors.

“I can’t believe we made it.” Lance said as he righted the ship.

“I hate you.”

Using one hand to unbuckle himself, Lance waved her over. “Take over.”

She shook her head, light hair flying around her shoulders. “No way.”

“Pidge, just hold us steady. We gotta make a jump.”

“We won’t hold up through a jump!” Pidge argued, though she climbed out of her seat and slipped into his.

“Keep us going, as fast as you can.” Lance hugged the wall as he headed towards the back panel. He knew this ship like the back of his hand, but there was nothing easy about moving through a cargo ship on the verge of giving out in the midst of a high-speed chase. He hoped Hunk made it through alright.

Placing his hand against the wall, Lance unlocked the panel and watched the small screen flash to life. Reaching in, Lance’s hand trailed over the softly thrumming hardware, energy sparking through his arm.

“Hunk, how many jumps could we make in this state?” Pidge asked over the intercom.

“Three would be pushing it.” Hunk’s voice cracked over the speaker almost instantly. “We can’t get far like this, at all. They took out way more than just the stabilizer.”

Lance pushed deeper inside the panel, taking stock of everything within the ship. The layout spread across his mind. He and Pidge in the bridge. Hunk crouched in the engine room, working the best he could with the deteriorating side of the ship. Even as Lance reached further, more and more of the ship slipped away as they sped through the sky.

“How’s the cargo?”

“All still here, miraculously. The khyjids are okay too, just freaked out.” Hunk answered.

Lance searched for the khyjids’ energy signatures within the ship. There. In the dormitory. All five of them were safe, but curled up under a bed, hiding.

“Lance? If we’re going to jump we have to do it now. We have some new friends to the party.” Pidge called over her shoulder.

Connected to the ship, he could feel every disturbance as more Galra ships caught up with them. Each tug as more of the ship became space junk. Lance focused, making sure everything and everyone was completely accounted for. Now.

The wormhole opened.

They rocketed forward.

The second Lance felt the last inch of the ship enter the wormhole, he pulled back. The panel snapped shut. Pidge slipped out of the seat as Lance returned to the head. She was reading the scanners for signs of distress before he had even sat down again.

“You did four jumps?”

Lance shrugged. “Hunk always did like to play is safe.”

Darkness spread endlessly before them. Wormhole jumps were always the most unsettling way to travel. There was no way of telling up from down, forward from back. Just endless darkness. Until it spit you out somewhere else in the universe. And you had to hope it was actually sending you to the right place. Lance shook his head, banishing that train of thought. The last thing he needed to do was start reliving old nightmares in the daytime too.

“Find the nearest friendly planet to our estimated exit point. We need new parts, and possibly a third mechanic. Just to be safe.”

“No promises.” Pidge replied, but she was already searching their databases. Lance had done his best to send them in the direction of where their shipment was headed to begin with, but he always had a harder time controlling the jumps when under distress.

When Hunk finally came stumbling back onto the bridge, there was a green tint to his face as he glared at Lance. “I explicitly said three jumps. I know I did.”

Lance smiled innocently. “Sorry, buddy.”

“Buckle up, boys. We’re comin’ in hot to Yestru.” Pidge cut off the rest of Lance’s well-deserved scolding.

Hunk groaned but did as instructed. “I hate Yestru.”

“It’s the best bet for us to get what we need, and not be detected until we’re operational again.” She shot a sharp look to Lance. “As long as someone can keep it in his pants this time, we should be fine.”

Lance made a sharp noise of indignation. “Okay, first of all, she came onto me. And second, how was I suppose to know she was the daughter of a Yestruhiri warlord?”

Pidge punched in their coordinates. The space before them began to lighten, finally, as they reached the end of their jump.

“This time, just assume everyone is off-limits. Take a vow of abstinence until we leave.”

“To be fair, the fact that Lance also slept with his second-in-command and they vouched for him is what saved us.” Hunk added.

Pidge turned to glare at him. He held up his hands helplessly.

“I didn’t sleep with him! We didn’t get that far, considering his boss kind of interrupted our date. But thank you, Hunk.” Lance scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Do you think he’s mad that I never called him back after that?”

“Oh, we’re gonna die.”

At that uplifting prediction, the wormhole spit them out into the crowded outer rings of Yestru. Lance scrambled to regain control of the ship as they hurtled past space junk and the tail end of a Yestruhiri fleet exiting the atmosphere.

“Hunk, can you start the adjustment for atmospheric changes as we descend?”

“One step ahead of you.”

“Thanks, big guy. Pidge-”

“Signal our intent, I know.”

“What would I do without you two?” Lance asked, batting his eyes at her, despite the fact that she was staring down at the controls.

“Still be stranded on Pochoth?” Pidge quipped, cheekily. Hunk tried, and failed, to smother his laughter.

Lance bit back his retort as a bright light flashed on before him. “Oh no.”

That got Pidge’s attention. “What?”

“I have to do a manual landing.”

Hunk groaned again.

With a grunt, Pidge pulled open a compartment under the main control station. A second yoke slid up through the machinery. “Hunk, do whatever you can to compensate for what we lost.” Pidge directed. Lance watched her pull out more bits and pieces, connecting wires mid-flight. Lance was always proud of how comfortable he was in his own ship, but sometimes, in moments like this, he was reminded that Pidge and Hunk basically rebuilt her. If there was anyone who might know the ship better than him, it would be one of them. Satisfied with whatever modifications she was doing, Pidge looked up at Lance. “Just worry about steering us towards a repair dock. I’ll help with the rest.”

Lance couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “Woo! Best damn rebel team in any galaxy, right here.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, but he saw the smile she tried to hide by turning away from him. “Just focus.”

With the three of them working in tandem, the ship rocked into place with surprising ease, considering all the obstacles in their way. Within the ship, however, the descent was not a smooth one, and they were all a little worse for wear by the time they landed.

“If this is how Hunk feels all of the time, I take back every complaint I ever made about his motion sickness.” Pidge groaned, slipping from her seat to lie on the floor.

Lance silently agreed from his own position on the floor.

“We need to get out and sign our ship into the dock.” Pidge made no move to get up. Lance made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t bother to move, either. “And we need to start looking for parts.”

“Shh, Pigeon. Just relax. A few more minutes.”

Surprisingly, it was Hunk who recovered first and rousted them from the floor. After check in, and profound apologizes to the dockmaster for the state of their arrival, they parted ways. Hunk and Pidge headed towards the Hara shopping district to look for parts. Lance went back to the ship with orders to “stay out of trouble.”

Complaining all the while, Lance did as requested. Someone needed to take stock of what they had on board, anyways. He grabbed a check pad from Pidge’s storage and headed to the cargo hold.

Crates of food sat at the front of the hold, depleted but enough to get them to Askides, as long as they didn’t have too many more mishaps. Normally, they liked to restock as often as possible, considering one never really knew when something could delay or redirect a trip, but they were discovered far sooner than they ever expected on Tharvis. Which meant they probably couldn’t return there. Thravi weren’t known for their loyalty to anyone who wasn’t Thravi, but Lance had been sure their supplier was actually on their side. With how quickly the Galra sniffed them out, however, the bounty on their heads must be growing.

“Damn you, Koszik.” Lance muttered as he continued on. Too bad he wasn’t actually Thravi and could send that particular sentiment straight to the backstabbing, sell-out himself.

The cargo in the back of the hold was the really important stuff. And they made it out of Thravis with enough medicine to last Askides at least a few months. So, it wasn’t a total failure of a trip. Lance took extra care, counting each bottle and bandage as he made his way through the hold. They could get extra food just about anywhere, but medicine untouched by the Galra was far and few between, and Askides was in desperate need of restocking. Rebel groups existed across the galaxies, but there were very few full planets that managed to hold their own against Galra invasions. When Lance, Pidge, and Hunk had left Askides last, the invasion had let up considerably, a waste of Galra time, energy, and resources for a rock barely big enough to be considered a planet, but they hadn’t been able to reach the Commander at their last check in, and they were starting to worry.

A noise at the front of the hold startled Lance out of his thoughts. Whirling around, one hand already on the blaster at his hip, Lance found one of the khyjids watching him with big, golden eyes. The khyjids were a rare, large, cat-like species, so rare, in fact, that Lance had never seen a single khyjid that wasn’t one of the kittens he had raised. Their skin was sleek but tough, almost like leather, and they could change it to blend in with their environments, or to something else entirely. Save for the tips of their ears, tails, and the bottom of their feet, that were constantly a dark, shiny black. The largest khyjid, Kuro, reached Lance’s waist standing on all fours, and easily towered over him on her hind legs. The smallest, Meadow, reached just above his knees. Their long, thin ears had hearing capabilities he still wasn’t sure he fully understood. A bite or a scratch from a khyjid could be venomous if they thought you were a danger, but even if you managed to avoid their heads, long, strong tails could easily take out a grown man with one well aimed swipe. All in all, a dangerous species.

“Hello, Daisy-Maisy. We’re you scared of the little bump we took? I’m sorry.” Lance cooed at the golden-coated khyjid staring at him. The second tallest, and easily the heaviest, of the group, she could make a fearsome image. But Lance perpetually saw them all as the tiny, helpless kittens he had found years ago.

Daisy replied with a soft rumble and moved further into the hold. Twisting herself around his legs, she laid on the floor with a huff. Lance smiled, leaning down to scratch behind her ears. The spindly ends twitched at his touch.

“Oh, you miss, Hunk, don’t you? You wanna cuddle with the big guy? He’ll be back soon and give you all the kisses you want.” Lance promised. Daisy replied with another rumble, making no effort to move.

Lance had no problem spending the rest of the day cuddling with the big babies, but he really didn’t want to do it in the middle of the cramped cargo hold.

“Hey, how about we go find your sisters and put on a movie? Yeah? Big cuddle pile. That cheers everyone up!”

Daisy squinted at him through one eye. Without visible pupils or irises, it was hard to tell exactly where a khyjid was looking, but Lance liked to think he had gotten pretty good at figuring it out.

“I’ll give you prickle fruit while Hunk’s gone.”

That, finally, had her off her feet and headed towards the door. Once she reached the hall, she looked back as if she couldn’t understand why Lance wasn’t right behind her.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

Lance and Daisy found the other khyjids already waiting in the kitchens. Lance watched them suspiciously as he went to the fridge. That was another thing about them. He had no proof, or another group of them to compare with, but he was fairly certain they could communicate with each other with some kind of telepathy. They always seemed to know exactly where the others were, and what was going on within the ship-if one of them was hurt, or scared, or getting a special treat they were normally denied.

“Don’t anyone tell on me.” Lance reminded them as he pulled out the sweets. Five sets of unblinking gold eyes stared back at him.

Lance offered the small, red fruit to Daisy first, who made a show of swallowing it whole. Meadow, with her mossy coat, was next, but Lance made her climb off the table before she got it. Once on the ground, Meadow sat beside Kuro, an entertaining contrast of size and coloring. Kuro, aside from her eyes, was entirely black. She could move like a shadow through the ship, silent and unseen. She was frightening, but also one of the gentlest creatures Lance had ever known. When he offered her the prickle fruit, she took it from his hand gently, forked tongue running over his fingers once in thanks. Anise and Azure were piled on top of each other when he turned to them. Despite being larger than her rust-colored sister, Azure sprawled on top of Anise. Azure nibbled on Anise’s ear, but Anise’s ease made it appear as if there was nothing more than a pesky fly hanging around her head, rather than a feline with razor-sharp fangs using her as a chew toy. Lance was careful to offer the fruit to the girls at the exact same time. They always had an odd relationship within the group and he did what he could to avoid angering the two of them, or pitting them against each other.

Lance tried not to have favorites, they were all his children, but he always felt he had a special connection to Azure. Her steel colored coat was the plainest of the five at first glance, but in the sun, on the rare occasion that he could let them outside, Azure’s grey turned a dazzling shade of blue. She was also the first of the khyjids that he found. A tiny, helpless thing barely able to walk, he had startled her when he stumbled into the cave they were hidden in, attempting to outsmart a Galra soldier he had stolen from. At first, she did her best to appear frightening, arching her back and baring nonexistent fangs, but at the time she could fit in his two hands and weighed next to nothing. So, he offered her some of the stolen food. She warmed up to him after that, and eventually led him deeper into the cave, where the other four were hidden. Kuro was injured and couldn’t move from their nest. A few feet away, their mother’s body lay stiff and cold, in a pool of blood that came from wound on her side. Lance, at the time, didn’t know what the strange creatures were, but he took it upon himself to care for them until they were old enough to live on their own. But by then, they were attached. And so, they stayed with him, wherever he went.

Once everyone was fed, Lance headed towards the dormitories. They followed behind him like a train of ducklings through the ship. There really was no comfortable way to fit on one of the dormitory beds with five fully grown khyjids, but tried his best to squeeze between them after popping on a movie. He hated being cooped up in the ship, as he’s sure they did too, but he knew he wasn’t any help to Pidge or Hunk at the market. He could fly this ship like it was an extension of himself, but he didn’t know the first thing when it came to matching parts or identifying quality from crap. And while he would never admit to Pidge that she might be right, it probably was best that he lay low for a while on Yestru.

They made it through at least an hour of the movie before Lance heard the shouting outside.

“What’s going on?” He asked aloud, extracting himself from the bed. Azure watched him without moving from her spot on the bed, as if trying to summon him back. He met her eyes. “Did you hear something?”

She pointedly turned away from him. Which was her way of wanting to stay out of whatever it was. Lance sighed, wondering why he didn’t ever follow her lead, even as he slipped on his shoes.

The closer to the front of the ship he got, the louder the commotion was. For a moment, all Lance could see were other ships parked and waiting for repairs or departure. He was ready to chalk it up to some Yestruhiri locals just being rowdy nearby, when he saw them.

A dark-haired man in a black body suit was stumbling through the platform, searching frantically for something. Dirt, and what was possibly blood, was smeared across his face and there was a cut through the leg of his uniform. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t move very fast, because he was supporting the weight of a man nearly twice his size, in an even worse condition. Every few seconds, the smaller man looked behind him. They were running from something.

Lance worried his bottom lip, watching them. Pidge and Hunk might actually kill him for getting involved in more trouble. But Lance was far too familiar with that terrified, exhausted expression. Before his common sense could reign supreme, Lance hit the button on the wall beside him. With a soft hiss, the ship door slid open.

The man whirled around, tensing as if waiting for an attack. His dark eyes widened when he saw the open, empty doorway. Lance watched as they scanned across the ship, before finally reaching him.

Fear.

‘Hurry up.’ Lance mouthed.

The man hesitated, before his companion dropped forward, unconscious. That seemed to make up his mind. With a surprising show of strength, he hefted up his companion and rushed towards the ship.

Lance sighed as he heard feet pound against the floor as the man boarded. Pidge and Hunk were definitely going to kill him.

“Leave me.”

Keith grit his teeth, willing the shuttle faster even as he saw the needle shake at the fastest setting. “Shiro. Shut the hell up.”

Shiro laughed wetly beside him, the sad noise turning into harsh coughs that wracked his body. “Keith, c’mon. They won’t hurt me. I’m human, and even if the Galra do find me here, they want me alive. I’ll be fine. I’m just dragging you down.”

Keith took a sharp turn that had Shiro nearly sliding off the seat and Keith scrambling to hold onto him. If they put their hands out, they could touch the dirt road below them. Once they were upright again, and Shiro was fully on the seat again, Keith snapped back a reply. “I’m not leaving you. I didn’t risk this much to get you out, just to abandon you again.”

Shiro dropped his forehead to Keith’s shoulder. Even through his suit, Keith could feel the heat radiating off of him. His fever was getting worse. “Thank you, for coming for me.”

Keith risked a look behind them. The Yestruhiri soldiers were steadily gaining on him, their numbers growing. “Shiro, shut. Up.”

Keith scanned the area for a detour, a short cut, a hiding place, anything to get the Yestruhiri off their backs. Bright yellow signs caught his eye, directing him towards the docks. In the lower level of the city.

“Shiro, can you take one more hit?” Keith asked. He hated to do it, but it was the only thing he could think of that might distract their tail long enough to hide or escape.

Shiro lifted his head, though it was obvious it took more effort than such a simple task should. Keith couldn’t see him, but he could feel the moment Shiro tensed, realizing what Keith was thinking.

“We could die.”

“Got any better ideas?”

Shiro sighed. “No.”

Keith nodded. Yanking the handle bars to the side, Keith sent them skidding towards the drop off point. “Hold on tight. This is gonna hurt.”

They were airborne. Using his feet on the pedals as a push off point, Keith threw himself and Shiro off of the bike. It went one way, they flew another. Shiro hit the ground first, the breath leaving him in a harsh gasp, and they rolled across the pavement. Keith did his best to use the moment they already had to get to his feet, but Shiro could barely move on his own and Keith was practically dragging him along the road.

“Last chance to leave me.” Shiro offered once he was finally on his feet. Still, Keith was supporting almost all of his weight as they stumbled down the path. It was certainly faster on the bike, but hopefully their pursuers wouldn’t think them crazy enough to jump from the upper to lower town.

“Not on your life.”

“Where are we going?”

“The docks.”

Keith felt more than saw Shiro’s grimace. “Keith, we can’t steal a ship.”

“We need to get out of here. Besides, when has anyone on Yestru really cared about legality? Or morals? It’ll fit right in.”

Shiro opened his mouth to reply, but what came out instead was a groan. Keith skidded to a stop, though he knew they shouldn’t be wasting any more time.

“What is it?”

Shiro gestured with the arm not wrapped around Keith’s shoulders. The robotic arm. Keith still wasn’t used to that. “My side. The fall must’ve reopened those wounds.”

Keith swore. He had forgotten about the cut along Shiro’s ribs. “Shiro, I’m sorry, this is all my fault-”

Shiro shook his head. “No. Keith, listen to me, none of this is your fault. You saved me. C’mon, we’ve gotta keep moving.”

Keith searched his face. There was pain, but he wasn’t lying. Somehow, after all of this, Shiro still didn’t blame him. Keith would save him, even if it cost him his own life. “Tell me if you need to stop.”

Shiro nodded. And then they were off again.

As far as Keith could tell, they hadn’t been followed yet, but he couldn’t stop himself from checking every few seconds. The sound of the Yestruhiri mob was in the distance, but it didn’t seem to be getting any quieter.

“Keep an eye out for a ship, something small, easy to maneuver.” Keith said as they hurried on.

His eyes scanned the area for anything that could help.

Suddenly the sound of an airlock seal breaking hissed behind them. Keith whirled around, reaching for his sword as he waited for someone to attack. He was met with the open doorway of an old cargo ship. An empty, open doorway. Keith scanned the ship for signs of a trap. It just looked like a normal cargo ship. Paint was worn away on the side, and it had obviously seen better days, but nothing about it seemed suspicious. Except for the open door.

Then, Keith saw him. A man was standing in the front of the ship, watching him and Shiro. Someone had seen them. They were never going make it out of there. And it was all his fault.

The man’s bright eyes flit away from Keith, just for a moment. When the man met his eye again, he mouthed something.

Hurry…up?

Keith looked between the man and the open door. Was he offering them a hiding place? A ride? Why? The man looked human, not Yestruhiri, but could it be a trap? Why else would he be offering two suspicious looking strangers refuge.

Shiro groaned. “Keith, something’s-”

Before he could finish his thought, he passed out. Keith stumbled with the sudden added weight of Shiro going completely limp. Keith looked around. They were running out of time. This was their best bet. With a grunt, Keith lifted Shiro as much as he could and charged towards the ship.

As the door slid shut behind them, he could only pray this wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #fic #klance #au #fic: throwing kisses from the sky #8.9.17 #rita writes #fanfic

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osekkaiyaki · 7 years ago

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@angryspacegirl @letoballz @fortunetellersapprentice

Despite faith in Morgan's abilities, Venan knew that the demon wouldn't be contained for long, even with the witch's family history of dealing with them. Even after they had laid out the plan to contain him, Shuko still pressed the importance of fusing with Scorin; Something would go wrong, a misstep on the young witch's part, anything.

She still couldn't believe, for all the trouble he had caused in the past, and the trouble caused now, that this demon known as 'Demodé ' to mortals was her long lost friend Grendine. The whole event left a horrible, long-lasting heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

Before parting ways after the summoning in Hell, Venan insisted that Morgan contact her immediately above anyone else if the demon managed to break the witch’s makeshift spellcraft dog leash. In the meantime, she made to prepare for the inevitable escape, travelling to Earth to seek out Scorin.

It wasn't hard, her ki signature was coming from exactly where Venan had guessed, she was at work. After meeting in Hell. Venan had given the Saiyan a second chance at life after dying along with her home planet. Resurrecting first and asking permission later, Venan had set Scorin up with a new life on Earth, insisting that since other Saiyans had integrated into Human society, she should as well. Eventually Scorin had found herself a job at a Burger Daddy in West City, and besides time for training, had found herself living a quiet life.

Venan had ordered a burger and sat while she waited for Scorin's break, the two occasionally shared awkward glances and before long, Scorin had joined her in the booth.

"I thought I told you not to come around here while I was working?"

"I know, I know, but honestly, you're lucky I even waited for you to take you're break." The burger sit untouched, only bought so that she had reason to get her friend's attention. While they sat, Venan explained the situation to her as best she could with how strange it was.

"So let me get this straight," Scorin started with a sigh, "You want me to take...who knows how much time off of work...to prepare for some fight and...some other stupid bullshit that I think isn't actually possible...because some friend of yours from school is a demonic nutcase that's possessed your love interest and wants to take over the universe...and also you were told how to beat him by some future hussie? I've always thought you were crazy, but this is the topping let me tell you."

The Kai cringed at the use of Love Interest, but didn't address it any further. "Anyway, this is serious. Please Scorin, even if it is stupid and that doesn't work, you're still the only person I have left!"

The Saiyan leaned back against the booth and stared up at the ceiling in thought. After a few moments, she returned her attention back to her friend. "I'll take a week off to train, that's it. And I will help you fight this guy, but I'm not going to do any stupid 'fusion dance' you saw some two jerkoffs do in Hell one time when shit went down and you, surprise, weren't doing your job. AAAND, you're going to think long and hard about how you're gonna repay me for it too." Her pointed finger for emphasis reached down, and snatched up the untouched burger. "That's it that's all."

"Fine...fine. I'm sure we can do it just fine with the two of us." Venan replied, surprised at first that the burger had been taken, but didn't bother to argue for it back. "I'll let you know if something happens or if he gets loose before then...in the meantime, thank you."

Scorin nodded and grunted, the burger gone within two bites. "Yeah, just make sure it's worth it. I don't want to break my employee of the month chain."

Removing herself from the booth, Venan scoffed. "It will be, in the sense that you'll still have your Burger Daddy afterwards."

It wouldn't be very long at all, despite feeling so, before His ominous energy could be felt. Venan had been dealing with other issues, more demons, literal and figurative. Being denied resolution in defeating them, AND being tasked with doing her actual job and residing on the Sacred World of the Kais while her superiors were away at some inter-universal tournament; she was still set on Grendine, and while she had spent much of her time over the last while preparing, now that it was actually happening all of that seemed to crumble apart.

It hit almost like a sharp migraine, and while there was no lasting pain, residual dread took it's place. It felt close, somewhere in Otherworld most likely. Her first immediate move was to leave the planet and retrieve Scorin.

Thankfully, she had been out and about training as Venan came calling, and wasn't in need of too much explanation. Just as Venan had grabbed her arm and prepared to jump them to Otherworld, the demonic energy manifested itself nearby. A ways above them, in the empty field that Scorin used as her training grounds, Grendine hung in the air, overdecorated and floral staff in hand.

"I felt you come down here, and I was immediately curious,"

Scorin squinted up at his figure, taking in the awful clash of the hues of his outfit against his blue skin...and that hairstyle, what was even going on there? "He looks like even more of a nerd than you do Vee." She snorted, not taking her eyes off of him. "When we're done, I want that sick stick he's got."

With the situation lightened slightly, Venan opted to join in on the jeering, earning her a slight confidence boost. "Sorry, but that's mine. You're gonna have to find another trophy."

Glaring down his nose, Grendine sneered at the two. "You know, I didn't come here for banter either, but that's a real bold claim talking as if I'm dead already."

Scorin scoffed, easing herself into a position to kick off from the ground. "That's because you are! pfh, we don't even need to fuse, I'll finish this guy for you no problem." A familiar golden aura enveloped her, and she shot upwards, rocketing towards their enemy.

"SCORIN! WAIT WE-"

Grendine smirked to himself and rolled his eyes. This woman's power level was essentially Mauna Kea compared to the Himalaya range of level spikes on this planet, and he fancied himself Nix Olympica. An expert spin of his verdurous staff summoned a multitude of energy bullets glowing red with a dark center.

Scorin dodged the first few of them on her ascent, but ultimately found that they were too many and close together to get any closer to him without getting hit. She used her head and pulled back, instead, aiming to blow through the barrage of energy and get to him with a well-timed beam of her own.

The surprise that she had caught on so quickly did not show on his face, and Grendine simply only needed to summon more of the bullets around himself to disperse the beam's explosion. The remainder went hurtling towards the Saiyan and those that had hit or missed their mark were quickly replaced double, leaving no space to advance.

The bullets weren't fatal, but they were still painful enough for Scorin to not actively fight through them if she could help it. "HEY DO YOU MAYBE WANNA COME GIVE ME A HAND?" she called down, casting a glance over her shoulder at Venan as she brushed aside one of the bullets exploding against her forearm.

"I TOLD YOU WE NEEDED TO DO THIS A CERTAIN WAY! AND YOU SHOT OFF ANYWAY!" Venan contested.

Taking the opportunity as they argued among themselves, Grendine doubled the assault, forcing Venan to put effort into avoiding them as well. Being a lot more agile than Scorin, Venan didn't find this a problem at first, as she dodged her way up to Scorin's side. "We can still do it-"

"I told you I got this! If you keep all of these off of me there won't be a problem!"

"OR we could do what we planned!"

"You mean what -you- planned. That's stupid and you know it." Scorin growled, sweeping her aside to go in for another shot. She blasted off towards their adversary yet again, this time, flickering out of sight just as a mass of bullets came her way. Reappearing just above and behind him, she readied a kick at the back of his obnoxious bad haircut.

In truth, if she were able to land the blow, that would have been the match, while Grendine's offenses were high, his defenses were not. Unfortunately for Scorin, he was aware of his shortcoming, and made up for it in being evasive. He wasn't going to let a single attack come through and was gone before Scorin's eyes could even comprehend just as she had set her leg in motion. Pulling back in confusion, she jerked her head back and forth, trying to get a glimpse of him and cursing the fact that she couldn't pinpoint his energy signal. Suddenly, she was shocked stiff by a light tap on her shoulder.

"It really is funny watching you two bumble around each other, but I do have things to get to if you don't mind-" Before she could react, Grendine brought his staff from her shoulder, and maneuvered the butt to jab into the small of her back. "I really don't have anything personal on you hun, but could you sit back while I have a quick talk with Venan? Thanks." Energy rushed off of his body in a wave, knocking Scorin off balance and into a large amount of redirected bullets from the first attack and sending her plummeting to the ground.

Using her telekinetic energy, Venan managed to lower Scorin to the ground as her trajectory came closer. "You looked real cool there Scor." She scoffed over her unconscious friend, but didn't have time to do much else before Grendine appeared on their level, to which she put herself in a defensive stance.

"Oh please, you're the ones that jumped the...gun? and attacked me!" Grendine declared, familiarizing himself with the modern idiom for a moment. He let go of his staff, and allowed it to float in the air idly behind him, so that he could put up both clawed hands, one missing it's middle finger, in a show of parley. "You really think I would need to actively take you out to get what I want? I merely wanted to check in on my old friend before I moved on to bigger things."

"I'm not going to let that happen." Venan spat back, her chest tight. "Check up on me my ass! You made this personal by targeting people I care about and I can't forgive that! You brought me into this a long time ago!"

"Had to get your attention somehow, didn't I? And if you ask me, it was a perfectly good motivator. Look at you now! I mean, it's too bad that it's too late and all..." He brought his hands together in a single, resounding clap. "Don't worry though, I'll be giving you a break and taking care of everything myself from now on, you won't have to lift a finger...you will have to watch however-"

"I'm NOT USELESS!" Venan yelled, cutting through his speech. "I'M NOT LAZY! i'M-"

"Scared?"

For a split second, her stance slackened, but she picked right back up, biting back a sneer that drew blood and drawing her knuckles white. "IT'S YOUR FAULT!! IT'S ALL YOURS!! We could have been fine! The four of us! but you left it all to me!!"

"HAH!" Grendine's distasteful guffaw cut through the tense atmosphere. "Are you really playing the blame game after you and Shin let this universe sink so low? Do you really think we would be doing better if -I- had to carry three of you?? I can do so much better on my own, it's ridiculous to think any different."

"I'm NOT incompetent! And neither was Kandai!"

"Explains why they're still alive then, huh?"

"I'm not going to let this happen, I'm not going to be a disappointment anymore." Venan's voice was hoarse through her teeth, and the more he riled her, the more her energy leaked out in small white electrical arcs along with her hot tears.

"I'M GOING TO SHOW YOU WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF! AND NO ONE WILL DOUBT ME AGAIN!!"

Grendine couldn't hide his pursed-lipped smirk. "That so huh? Go ahead then, let's see. Heaven knows you didn't learn a damn thing back home."

While he laughed at his own quip, Venan concentrated. Not only gathering her own energy, she called forth energy from all the living beings in the vicinity, this wasn't something uncommon among beings of their kind; lower Kais, and even few mortals that had a strong connection to nature could call upon it to lend it their energy. Instead of gathering it all into one place, Venan had placed her own twist on the move. From horizon to horizon, from all angles, the ground, the trees, the whole landscape glimmered with small dots of energy, from every blade of grass, insect and animal, above them from the moisture in the clouds.

Grendine was not impressed.

"Really? This basic stuff?-" As soon as the kinetic sparks of energy came at him from all angles, he swallowed his words. He managed to bring up an energy barrier to deflect the rain of her bullets this time, most of them at least. A good amount of them had gotten to him in the brief moment he was unprepared, and would have most likely incapacitated him had he not reacted quickly. Looking down upon his clothes, now thoroughly tattered, they were also stained with small drops of indigo blood, his own, as well as a few stray clippings from his hair.

They were sharp. Millions of little kinetic razors that he almost drastically underestimated.

Speechless, he inhaled deeply. As the barrage subsided, he wiped a palm across his face, inspecting the smears from several small cuts, then through his fingers at Venan, who seemed a confused picture of simultaneously impressed at her work, and dismayed that it hadn't been enough. With a snap of his fingers, his clothing instantly repaired itself, and he flickered, cutting the distance between them, and grabbing her up by the collar with the same hand.

"That was pretty good actually, I've improved on that one too, let me show you."

Dangling her with his one hand, Grendine used the other to pull the same move Venan just had, gathering the surrounding flora and fauna's energy, with the exception that he had sucked them dry, to the point that a growing radius of wilting death spread from his feet that extended into the distance. Soon the sky began to rumble and the ground joined it, so cracked and parched that began to crack and shift, and break away beneath his feet, but he stayed in place, hovering the two of them. Engulfing the hand that drained the natural energy, a blade of red-tinted kinetic energy had formed.

"I really have no interest on harming this sad planet and lowering my universe's mortal level any more than it has, so this will do fine." in an instant, the Earth's quaking movement ceased.

"You have no idea how it feels, how I've felt, scraping by for millennia after working so hard...only to return and find that you, alive and living what should be my life, wasting it, ruining it, taking the most important job that can be bestowed in any universe for granted. I could have single-handedly fixed this universe and Fuyu chose YOU over me! I'm going to MAKE you feel it!"

Letting her drop, Grendine swung the bladed arm, cutting through Venan's twin braides in one swift motion as she fell.

The feeling was instantaneous, a massive jolt as if nerves had been severed instead of hair, and suddenly what felt like her connection to herself, and everything else was gone. She hit the ground below in shock and could barely muster up the will, let alone realign her senses into pulling herself up.

"Bitch that's for cutting up my face." Grendine called down. "I'll leave you as is, you're going to live to see what you've done to fail your universe. You know where to find me for front row seats." He gave a dismissive wave, retrieved his staff, and with that, he vanished.

#plot shit that i'll come up with a proper tag and title for eventually #;Ven&&s #;Grendineisms #Scorin #Morgan #Closed

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ntrending · 6 years ago

Text

Asteroids deal with breakups better than we thought

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/asteroids-deal-with-breakups-better-than-we-thought/

Asteroids deal with breakups better than we thought

If scientists ever discover a giant asteroid heading toward Earth, someone somewhere is going to remember the good times they had watching Armageddon and suggest we just blow it up. And while there are many, many reasons why this is utterly ludicrous, we now have one more reason to throw that strategy into the garbage bin. In findings published in the new issue of Icarus, a group of researchers found that city-sized asteroids may be much tougher than we initially thought, putting the kibosh on the notion of turning such a rock into a pile of harmless rubble.

Not all asteroids are created equal. According to KT Ramesh, a materials scientist at Johns Hopkins University and the lead author of the new study, while gravity does a good job of modeling large celestial objects into hardy spheres, things are much more eccentric at smaller sizes. Gravity is not necessarily strong enough to mold asteroid-sized things out into spheres, so they tend to be different shapes and sizes. There are few cases that encapsulate how strange this gets better than the former-bowling-pin-former-snowman-now-double-pancake-shaped object called 2014 MU69.

Moreover, there’s an age factor here. “The way we tend to think about this,” says Ramesh, “is that it’s likely all asteroids get hit by other asteroids over time. If they’ve been around for a couple billion years, then they’ve been hit many times.” So presumably, if they’ve been hit hard enough, they’ve been broken up many times over. Gravity then puts these pieces back together, and this process occurs again and again and again. “We tend to call these things ‘rubble piles,’” possessing loose regolith and fractured internal structures.

If a good chunk of larger asteroids are nothing more than fast-moving rubble piles, than that means they should be pretty easy to just blow up if we ever find ourselves staring down a collision—right? But we’ve only had a few chances to really study asteroids through direct observations. We don’t fully understand the internal and surface structures of these billion-year-old rocks, the range of sizes for which “rubble pile” theory is true, and how much energy it would really take to outright destroy an asteroid. So Ramesh and his team decided to do what scientists have become so accustomed to doing in the 21st century: they created a simulation of a 25-kilometer-long asteroid getting hit by a 1-kilometer-long asteroid cruising through space at five kilometers per second.

The computer modeling used to simulate and characterize an asteroid impact isn’t entirely new, but where it does distinguish itself from prior models is in “a new way of describing how rocks fare,” says Ramesh. “This model actually captures the speed of cracks very well, and what the consequences are.” Asteroid cracks can move at several kilometers per second, but there are also limits in how they can move and propagate through the rock, and how they’ll move through the defects in the rock. The new model takes these patterns into account. In addition, the study’s models incorporate a computational technique for simulating solids and fluids that had not been used in planetary science before, called the “material point method.” “It turns out to be a very good way of coupling the effects of impact with the effects of gravity,” Ramesh says.

In the simulated impact, the larger asteroid does not neatly break up as was previously predicted. It’s damaged, sure, but the cracks don’t propagate as fiercely as one might think, and gravity is able to hold together the various pieces pretty well.

“They don’t break the way we thought,” says Ramesh. “Now we know it takes significant time for this to happen. And the end result is that these bodies [after being impacted] could be significantly damaged, but not broken up.”

Don’t get all morose about the dark fate of the world just yet. Simulations provide estimations, not predictions. “We just don’t have enough information about what most asteroids are made of, what their current structures are, how the densities work,” says Ramesh. “We really need more data.” Current missions like Hayabusa-2 and OSIRIS-REx will shed more light on asteroid composition, but we’ll need more missions like NASA’s Double Asteroid Redirection Test (DART) that can better study in the internal structure of these rocks before we truly understand how to assess an asteroid threat—and what we could do to protect ourselves.

And fundamentally, trying to destroy the asteroid is not a particularly wise move. “You certainly don’t want to try what the movies do and blow these things up,” says Ramesh. “That’s not going to help very much.” Trying to destroy an asteroid might simply break it up into multiple pieces that are each hazardous to the planet. “What you really want to do is move the asteroid out of the way.” Deflection is the name of the game.

Mark Boslough, a former scientist at Sandia National Laboratories and the chair of the Asteroid Day Expert Panel for the B612 Foundation, finds the new study’s asteroid models to be more robust and sophisticated than what’s come before, and thinks the suggestion that many asteroids aren’t just rubble piles but have a more monolithic core is “in principle, a testable idea.”

He does caution, however, that the study’s simulation of a single 25-kilometer-long asteroid is not all that realistic when considering practical applications. “We only know of one of those that’s a near-Earth object. So I’m not sure if the study really applies to planetary defense, since it doesn’t really scale down to smaller asteroids.” Former astronaut Ed Lu, a co-founder of the B612 Foundation, notes the “city killer” asteroids that most planetary defense experts are concerned with are roughly 30 to 100 meters in diameter. A city-sized object that’s 25-kilometers long is “extraordinarily uncommon.”

On the assumption that the results do scale down to smaller asteroids, however, Boslough actually thinks the findings are good news. “If we make the discovery far enough in advance [of an asteroid] to actually implement a deflection, that means we could actually hit it hard enough to make it miss the Earth without breaking it up.”

While the implications to planetary defense are worth considering, Ramesh thinks the findings are probably more relevant to future robotic and human exploration of the asteroids themselves. “Think of asteroid mining as an example,” he says. “You need the ability to take materials from the asteroids, which raises questions of what you’ll need to know about the asteroid surface and structure to go about that.”

That’s a much more realistic way of contextualizing the results. None of the strategies we have to save ourselves from an extinction-level asteroid are developed beyond any kind of theoretical sci-fi phase. There’s no magical space gun or gravity tractor (yet) to push the threat out of the way. The best we’re going to hope for is that our ungodly array of nuclear missiles might—might—just nudge an asteroid over a bit so that it misses us, completely or at least in bulk. Really, we may as well just hope we all don’t die in the aftermath.

The only immediate goal for NASA’s Planetary Defense Coordination Office right now is to identify and track as many threatening near-Earth objects as it can. And then, possibly, we can decide how to actually respond to an object hurtling toward us.

“The most important thing is to actually find these objects,” says Boslough. “If we don’t find them, there’s nothing we can do about them.”

Written By Neel V. Patel

#Space

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robininthelabyrinth · 8 years ago

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Fic Prompt: Coldwave, Zombies.

Fic: Staying Alive - AO3 linkFandom: Flash, LOT, ArrowPairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Cisco Ramon/Lisa Snart, unproven allegations of Mick Rory/Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: “– as always, this is Ami Dillon, your resident media studies graduate student and totally under-qualified radio host, and your source for the latest updates on the state of Central City during the present Zombie Crisis, courtesy of the Mayor’s office. In addition to life-saving tips and general safety alerts, we also bring you the excellent morale-boosting soundtrack of the greatest hits of the Apocalypse, by which we mean whatever tracks the local radio stations had sitting around and the cover songs played by our dearly beloved cover band, the Post-Apocs. As always, we begin with our theme song: Stayin’ Alive, by the Bee Gees!”

(the great coldwave romance of the zombie apocalypse)

A/N: Have you ever had an idea, gone “heh, that would be funny, I’ve always wanted to try writing one of those” and then it eats your brain? This is it.

…honestly, with the zombie apocalypse theme, I really should have predicted it.

———————————————————————————-

———The End———

“– as always, this is Ami Dillon, your resident media studies graduate student and totally under-qualified radio host, and your source for the latest updates on the state of Central City during the present Zombie Crisis, courtesy of the Mayor’s office. In addition to life-saving tips and general safety alerts, we also bring you the excellent morale-boosting soundtrack of the greatest hits of the Apocalypse, by which we mean whatever tracks the local radio stations had sitting around and the cover songs played by our dearly beloved cover band, the Post-Apocs. As always, we begin with our theme song: Stayin’ Alive, by the Bee Gees!”

———The Beginning———

Consciousness comes swiftly, as it always does, but Len yawns and stretches lazily anyway. He doesn’t have anything serious planned for today: Lisa’s off doing some ‘team bonding’ thing with the new Rogues he’s recruited, by which she means she took them to that Caribbean island resort beach house that Len won in a high stakes poker game against a Family don once to kick back, drink margaritas, and demonstrate to them the value of staying in rather than out. Len’s the vinegar, Lisa’s the honey; they work well together that way.

Naturally, Len is going nowhere near that stupid island when it’s this hot; he would have agreed to go if Mick was going, because Mick would have kept people (Lisa) from badgering him about leaving the air-conditioned house to go swimming or something stupid like that, but Mick had been lured away by a fireworks convention (why are there fireworks conventions? Why? Is it specifically designed to lure in pyrophiliac arsonists? Except no, Len checked it out, it’s apparently legit and just run by fireworks companies, pyrotechnics experts, and people who like things that go boom) all the way over on the East Coast, so Len’s all by himself.

He finds he likes that state so much more when it’s voluntary.

Still, biology can’t be denied: he’s definitely awake now.

Yawning again, he pads over to the kitchenette they’ve set up in the warehouse to make himself a cup of coffee, flicking on the TV as he does.

“Scenes of chaos break out internationally as what can only be described as zombies terrorize cities and towns around the globe,” the reporter says as violence plays out behind her. “No one knows where this plague came from, but the simultaneous outbreak in multiple locations has been definitively determined to be an act of bio-terrorism. Governments around the globe have deployed the military and information is limited. Interstate and international communications are being shut down as we speak. We don’t know how much long we will be able to continue reporting –”

The TV crackled, static-y, and abruptly cut out.

“Well,” Len says, reaching out to flick the coffee maker back off before it’s finished making the coffee. “Shit.”

———The End———

“Mayor Snart! Mayor Snart!”

“I am not the goddamn mayor,” Len says, as evenly as he can, though he suspects sourly that he’s going to lose that fight - in fact, that he may have lost it several weeks ago and no one seems inclined to confirm to him that the fight is lost.

The grins of the media pool seem to confirm as much.

“I’ll give you five minutes to ask questions,” he concedes. “Starting now. Go.”

“Mayor Snart – Scott Evans, Central City Picture News. Now that you’ve opened Central City’s doors to the international community once more -”

“After they go through our quarantine procedures, yes,” Len interjects.

“-the world wants to know how you managed to make Central City the most functional city in North America following the Crisis.”

“You do realize I said I was only giving you five minutes, right?” Len says with some disbelief. “Four minutes, thirty eight seconds, now.”

The reporter seems to realize his error and quickly rushes to the next point on his list. “Mayor Snart, when did you first learn about the crisis?”

“When I saw the news on my TV, just like most of the rest of the world,” Len says. “Next question?”

“Mayor Snart – Ronnie Troupe, Daily Planet,” a black woman says. “What reason did you have for going straight to Central City University in your quest to defend the city? What qualities were you thinking about?”

“The intercom system, mostly,” Len says, then takes half a step back at the sheer noise the media pool is generating at him. He holds up his hands for silence, which he even gets after a few minutes. “Everybody’s got a zombie plan, right? This one was mine. I always figured that the university – any university – has the most important assets you need when dealing with a zombie invasion, and I turned out to be right.”

“What assets are those?” the woman asks. “The library, for information?”

“The cafeteria, with food supplies?” another reporter asks eagerly.

“A well-stocked medical facility?” another one added in.

“All of those are important,” Len says. “But no, I was thinking about its greatest asset: an intercom system, and lots and lots of mostly able-bodied young adults between eighteen and twenty six who are conditioned by over twelve years of school to listen to anything that comes out of that intercom.”

He has to step back again as the media roars, each one yelling follow-up questions and drowning themselves out in the sheer noise. Then, when they realize he can’t hear them, they each start shouting his name – “Mayor Snart! Mayor Snart!” – in an effort to get his attention.

This is ridiculous.

“Lise,” he says to his sister and self-appointed chief of staff, who is perched idly in the chair next to his podium, filing her nails in a purposefully bored manner. “I’m basically the dictator of Central City right now, right? Why haven’t I banned the paps already?”

“Because you always said the only reason you can’t steal speech is ‘cause it’s free,” Lisa replies, not missing a beat. “Sorry, big brother. Suck it up.”

Len looked at his other side, where his personal admin – why does he have a personal admin again? He doesn’t remember agreeing to that – shrugs. “Sorry, boss. She has a point. You should answer some more questions.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” Len says, his internal clock hitting a blissful zero in its countdown. “Sorry folks, your time is up. I’ll be answering questions again on Friday –”

He eyes a smug-looking Lisa.

“– and in the meantime, I’m sure my chief of staff will be happy to answer some questions for you.”

He dashes off the stage, Lisa’s yowl of “Lenny, you bastard!” following him like music in his ears as the reporters turn on her like piranhas in a feeding frenzy.

She’ll make him regret it later, he’s sure.

But for now: freedom!

———The Beginning———

Len makes his way through the entrance of the university, which is filled by anxious-looking undergrads and older students, all gathered in groups and chattering amongst themselves or gathered around the televisions.

Some of them, in what Len can only describe to be the true tenacity of the American K-12 system, are still doing their homework.

Sometimes Len is so happy he’s a dropout.

“Hey, you,” he ask a black kid who’s hovering around watching the crowds with increasing trepidation. “Where’s the AV department?”

“Uh, third floor, I think,” the guy says. “Wait, who are you?”

“I’m the guy that’s going to keep most of the people here from dying,” Len says, and taps the gun strapped to his leg. “By force, if necessary.”

The kid blinks and stares at the gun. “Hold up. Are you Captain Cold?”

“Right now, I’m the man in need of the AV department because I don’t fancy dying,” Len informs him. “You hear that noise in the halls? That’s the student body hurtling towards panic. Panic leads to questionable decision making and stampedes, which in turn lead to –”

“Lots of dead people, no zombies required,” the kid finishes, looking grim. “Okay, on the off-chance that you’re not as bad as everyone says you are, follow me; I’ll show you where it is.”

“You’re very trusting,” Len observes, following him as he barrels down the hallway at double-time pace. "Especially given that I am a supervillain.”

“Not so much you I’m trusting,” the kid says. “Barry says good things about you.”

Len’s eyebrows shoot up. Well, if that’s not a spot of good luck, he doesn’t know what is. He has no idea who the kid is, but if he’s part of the Flash gang, that’s good news for him. “Barry – Allen?”

“That’s the one.”

“And where is Barry Allen, by chance? I’d been wondering that. Zombie crisis everywhere - I thought I’d see lightening every step I take.”

The kid makes a face. “He’s in Starling City. And possibly another universe. He and – uh, a bunch of the others – went to go stop the zombie plague.”

“I’m in awe at his success,” Len says, voice dripping with sarcasm, and then he sees the door he’s looking for and walks in. The intercom set up is immediately apparent and he heads towards that, sitting down and pulling it out.

“What are you going to do?” the kid asks.

“What’s your name?” Len asks instead.

“Wally West.”

“Great, Wally, you can help me with the vernacular.” Len turns the intercom on and summons up all his vague memories of high school and television shows thereof. He puts on his best homeroom announcer voice. “Students and faculty of Central City University, pay attention. This is an urgent announcement regarding the ongoing crisis. In order to deal with this in an orderly manner, I need all of you to head over to one of the big classrooms –”

He pulls away from the mic and looks at Wally.

“You mean the lecture halls?”

“- to one of lecture halls. Once those have been filled up, any remaining individuals should fill up the classrooms near to them. Please fill up all available seats. Once there, circulate a –”

He pulls away again and asks Wally, “What do you call it when they all sign their names?”

“Attendance sheet.”

“Circulate an attendance sheet. We’re going to want to know where everyone is. The next step is going to be splitting you up into groups of five people, so please start organizing yourselves into those groups. Faculty, send a representative of each department, but specifically the history, engineering, chemistry and physics departments, to lecture hall 101 –” Len had noticed that that was the largest one. “– and AV techs, please set up a system by which the broadcast from that room can be sent to all the other rooms or hooked up into the intercom system. Additional instructions as to how we’re going to be dealing with this crisis will be forthcoming in thirty minutes, so be in position by then.”

Len flicks the microphone off. “Think that worked?”

“I mean, yeah, everyone’s gonna do it,” Wally replies, eyes narrowed a bit. “But what’s the actual plan?”

“It’s a university,” Len says. “Gotta keep up with the proud college traditions of 1968.”

“1968?”

“Do you even get taught history here?” Len complains. “I’m talking about barricades.”

Wally’s eyes go wide. “Barricades?”

“Well, yeah,” Len says. “How else are we going to establish a clear zone to use as a base to re-take the rest of the city?”

“Re-take the city?”

Len holds up a finger. “Barricades,” a second one, “clear zone,” a third, “quarantine procedures,” a fourth. “Siege warfare and expansion to fight the zombies. You can’t fight if you don’t have somewhere to fall back to. We’ve got a couple of thousand students waiting for directions right now. You gonna help?”

“Yes, sir!” Wally says enthusiastically.

Len makes a face. “No ‘sir’,” he corrects him. “If you gotta call me anything, just make it ‘boss’.”

———The End———

– in view of the mental and physical deterioration suffered by the individuals afflicted by TX-90 (colloquially known as “zombies”) [see supra, chap. 2], city warfare quickly reverted to the forms most familiarly used in the European social conflicts of the 19th century, most famously in Paris, France during the revolutions of 1789, 1832 (popularized, of course, by the famous novel ‘Les Misersables’ by Victor Hugo), 1848, and 1871.

Early military blockades, composed in the more ‘modern’ style primarily of individuals and high powered weaponry, proved ineffective against the onslaught, particularly in view of the general reluctance of soldiers to aim against such human-appearing enemies, many of whom were still dressed in casual civilian garb. Additionally, the infection of a single soldier on the line caused a severe and immediate drop in morale, leading to regular retreats and ineffective blockades.

In contrast, the revival of the use of physical barricades, accompanied by siege warfare tactics, in the retaking of Central City [see infra, chap. 6] was extraordinarily successful. As the traditional ‘paving stone’ barricade structure was rendered unavailable due to the introduction of asphalt roads, the citizens of Central City – led by Leonard ‘Captain Cold’ Snart [this work, which focuses on the strategic and tactical elements of the crisis, will not go into detail regarding the well-known actions of Mr. Snart; for a full biography, see Roberts et. al, Cold: A Study in Unorthodox Leadership and Lahiri, Divak & Strumm, Supervillains To Superheroes: The Rogues During the Crisis] – resorted instead to a more nuanced form.

The barricades of Central City, which served as the model for the other cities in the United States and, eventually, the world, are created by using elements of the existing infrastructure. Three teams would be sent out on any given ‘building’ expedition: the ‘scouts’, the ‘builders’, and the ‘reserves’. The scouts – a position reserved for individuals of bravery and recognized talents in armed combat, often including criminals of Mr. Snart’s acquaintance which he deemed trustworthy and supplemented by his student army, many of which were obliged to pick up firearms instruction as part of the ‘Crisis Curriculum’ [see infra, chap. 5, subsection 3 ‘Educational Initiatives’] – would be posted at the furthest extent from the epicenter (originally: Central City University) in order to spot any approaching zombie. While the scouts maintained the perimeter, the ‘builders’ would overturn local cars onto their sides and position them in a semi-circular fashion between the buildings on each side of the street. Quick-acting cement, formed in large quantities in the labs of Central City University [see infra, chap. 6, subsection 5; see also Trumbull & Hall, Chemical Manufacturing in the Midwest: The Zombie Revival], would then be poured into the gaps between the cars, creating an immediate ‘wall’ that would serve as a barrier between the oncoming zombies and the defending individuals. The ‘reserves’ were there to supplement the ‘scouts’, should any roving bands of zombies take notice. A certain number of ‘gates’ were introduced in each barricade wall, initially made of doorframes stolen from nearby buildings and later reinforced with additional layers of concrete and steel once the local automobile factories had been reclaimed and their manufacturing capabilities turned to support the barricades.

These barricades were simple, cheap, and brutally effective against the ‘mindless’ zombie attackers, who would simply charge the barricades repeatedly, enabling the defenders to utilize siege warfare tactics, including, but not limited to, burning oil, spikes, ditches, and even simply luring zombies in before destroying a whole set with a grenade while the defenders hid behind their wall. Due to the cheapness of this approach, utilizing existing cars already out on the street, it was possible to continue to expand with relative ease without disrupting the earlier built segments. As each barricaded area was secured, yet another set of teams was sent out to create another barricade further out. It is this simple yet visually arresting barricade system that created the famous ‘concentric circles’ of Central City, leading to the famous images captured by airborne photographers –

excerpt from Military Tactics During the Crisis, pub. 2018, © Columbia University Press

———The Beginning———

“They’re coming!” a panicked cry went up.

Len races down to the gates of the university, which have been barred and sealed by his order. The first barricade line is still being built; he’s pleased to see that his squads are returning back to the relative safety of the university as ordered instead of trying to fight the zombies.

Perhaps a little more “retreat” and a little less “fleeing in terror” would be better, but hey, they’ll work on that.

“Does anyone have a baseball bat?” he calls out.

It’s just weird enough that everyone stops panicking long enough to turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Chair or table legs work too,” he adds, then goes over and hops the fence. “Though I wouldn’t mind having a few guns at my back as well. And can someone call the chemistry department? That work I’m having them do in their spare time regarding explosives will come in rather helpful soon, I’m sure.”

Then Len turns to face the zombies. “Heeere, zombie!” he calls, mimicking every person he’s ever heard talk to a dog. “Heeere, zombie!”

“Is he nuts?” he hears someone ask.

Possibly multiple someones.

But it works – the zombies lurch after him instead of aiming for the university walls filled with tasty, tasty undergraduates, because the zombies clearly have lost whatever portion of their brain involves prioritization and/or efficiency.

They’re quicker than the slow-walkers he might have hoped for in an ideal universe, but he’s even faster, jogging a quick circle around them until they’ve gotten themselves all into one big, giant ravening mob.

One big, giant target.

Len grins.

He hoists up his cold gun and fires lengthwise at full power, freezing the whole lot of them as he slowly moves the gun from left to right over the crowd. As he fires, he moves steadily sideways, echoing his first round around the zombies, careful to ensure he gets every single one of them.

This involves having to climb up on a dumpster to get the last few that got stuck in the middle, but that’s fine.

When he finishes, with nearly forty zombies all frozen, he turns to look at his audience of gaping students. “Baseball bats, chair legs, table legs,” he calls to them. “Any blunt object will do. I want this ice cubes smashed before they even think about starting to melt, you hear me?”

The roar of agreement he gets is most satisfactory.

———The End———

“Welcome back,” the TV show host says with a grin. “Our guest tonight is here to talk about her newest book – the Age of Heroes. Ms. West here is a long-time citizen of Central City –”

There’s a long pause for applause.

“– and one of the first chroniclers of the activities of the Flash, whom many people are calling the country’s first super-powered superhero.”

“Well, it’s something of a race between us and Metropolis,” Iris West says with a laugh. “Thanks for having me. Ironically enough, though, my book isn’t about the superpowers people – especially people in Central City – got, or what they chose to do with in. Instead, my book is something of an exploration of how the whole superhero phenomenon got started: people realizing that they was something to fix in this world, and then going to fix it.”

“A lot of people have been quibbling with your decision to set the start of the Age of Heroes, as you call it, back with the emergence of the Green Arrow, Star City’s controversial vigilante figure. What do you have to say to that?”

“It’s very hard to say exactly when something began,” Iris replies. “Certainly, academically, you could go with any number of options. That being said, I do think that the Green Arrow counts as a superhero – he dedicated his life to stopping evil in his city, even if the way he started out was…more violent than what we’ve come to expect from our heroes.”

“Though, speaking of violent heroes, what do you have to say about the current leadership of Central City?”

“Oh, Mayor Snart?” she says, grinning. “He’s – definitely a special case.”

The host leans forward, eyes avid. “In fact, it appears that your foster-brother, Barry Allen, has attended several events as Mayor Snart’s plus-one instead of his husband. Given the – would it be wrong to say legendary? – nature of that particular relationship, that’s got a lot of people talking. Do you have anything to say about that?”

“Yeah, I do,” Iris says, looking amused. “Weren’t we here to talk about my book?”

———The Beginning———

Len isn’t going to throw the phone across the wall. He is not.

For one thing, he’s a mature adult. Way too old to be throwing temper tantrums, even if there are no impressionable kids around to terrify. It’s childish and irresponsible and stupid.

For another thing, he didn’t work this hard on a reputation for being cool to lose it at the first provocation. He’s Captain Cold, for fuck’s sake. He is not going to go off at nothing.

A lot of nothing.

Several weeks of nothing.

“Don’t throw it, boss,” Wally says, walking in with an armful of paper. “Cell phones are hard to replace.”

Len gives the kid a dirty look. “There’s a knock off cell phone store inside the clean zone now, I happen to know. Anyway, did I ask for your input?”

“Yeah, you did,” Wally says. “When you appointed me your personal aide.”

“Why did I do that?” Len wonders grumpily, but he already knows the answer to that.

“Because you hate paperwork with the fury of a million suns,” Wally says, smirking. “Or would you prefer to say something more like the frozen heart of a dead star being sucked into a black hole of vast emptiness?”

“You were an English student, weren’t you?”

“Engineering, actually. Cars.”

“You missed your calling.”

Wally cracks a grin. “My sister’s a journalist. Iris West.”

“I’ve read her stuff,” Len acknowledges with a nod. “Good writer. Probably gonna murder Barry for dragging her out on adventure when she could be winning a Pulitzer.”

“She insisted on going,” Wally says. “She’ll be okay; I’m sure of it. Barry would fix the timeline if her nail broke.”

Len barks a laugh. “Speaking of the Flash gang,” he says, gesturing for Wally to come closer, “do you have the plan for retaking STAR Labs?”

“No, that’s Axel’s bailiwick,” Wally says. “He’s got this genius for guerilla tactics that you really have to admire; he’s on his way. He’s not that bad, you know?”

“Getting him away from Jesse’s influence helps,” Len allows. “He’s still a punk. You get Rosa’s little sis?”

“Ami? Yeah, she’s still handling communications and having a blast. No word yet on Scudder - he’s probably still in Iron Heights, and that’s still no-man’s-land thanks to the military.”

“Pity,” Len says. “Useful skill set, that. Well, we’ll figure it out when we get there. Have we secured the reservoir? Professor Latham’s lecture on cholera gave me nightmares.”

Wally shudders. “No kidding. Yeah, it’s secure; Singh gave the orders and the CCPD stopped bitching. Well, for the most part. They’re feeling overshadowed.”

Len shrugs. “I have plenty of cops in the ranks,” he points out. “It’s the ones that cling to their need for superiority over the rest of us that are having trouble adjusting. Though really, after we raided the SWAT supply, I don’t see what’s so great about their precious hierarchy anyway. Whatever. I want to see the latest update from the reservoir first thing this afternoon.”

“Right,” Wally says, noting it down. “Now you wanna tell me what’s really bugging you?”

“Do I look like the touchy-feely ‘talking it out’ type?”

Wally cracks a grin. “No,” he admits. “But you wouldn’t be asking about the reservoir three days after declaring the project in progress and leaving it in Jax’s hands - also, on that note, he hates you and would like to remind you that he never actually got into college - ”

“He knows more engineering from his auto repair job than some of the so-called professors,” Len replies with a shrug. “He can learn how to fix a dam. Besides, I assigned him a professor – what’s his name – as back-up, didn’t I?”

“He still hates you for making him a general.”

Len smirks. He likes appointing people as generals, especially individuals under the age of twenty-five. They always freaked out about it.

“He can tell me all about it when I see him this afternoon on the reservoir project,” he says.

"Which is suddenly important again, why?”

Len scowls at his cell phone. “Solar’s all well and good to supplement our generators, but I want some hydroelectric to help boost the phone lines. Why the hell did the military cut them everywhere, anyway? Did they think the zombies were going to tap them or something?”

"I thought you already heard from your sister,” Wally replies, frowning.

“I have,” Len replies. “She has a satellite phone. The military of the island nation she’s on has barred all entrance/exit traffic until they’re satisfied that the crisis is over, so she and the others went back to the resort and are currently debating piña coladas vs margaritas.”

“Wow, really?”

Len shrugs. “It’s an island, and I haven’t seen any indication that zombies swim.”

“…now I’m imagining a swarm of underwater zombies, thanks for that, boss.”

“Me, too, actually,” Len says with a frown. “Get the bio department on that question stat, will you?”

“Sure thing. So what’s the problem with the phones, then? I thought you said your sister was the only living relative you had.”

“She is,” Len says, eyes still stealing to the useless and not-ringing phone. “It’s my partner I haven’t heard a peep from.”

———The End———

“– our next Oscar nominee is 500 Miles, an epic tale of love and hardship set during the events of the Zombie Crisis. This moving film skillfully merges romance, tragedy, action, and, yes, even comedy – yes, a romantic comedy has finally been nominated for an Oscar, and all it took was a horde of attacking zombies –”

The presenting actor pauses to allow the audience to laugh and the camera to pan over various faces in the audience, all smiling.

“As you all know, 500 Miles is based on the amazing true story of current Central City mayor, Leonard Snart, and his husband, Mick Rory, who found themselves located on opposite sides of the country when the Zombie Crisis began –”

The camera zooms in on a group of people in the audience sitting by the far left wall. A tall man with closely clipped salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in a dark blue suit, is slouched down in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s developing a headache; the man by his side, a larger man with a shaved head, has a giant grin on his face. He’s dressed in a tux and he’s somehow obtained a giant tub of popcorn, despite food generally not being allowed into the building.

The young man sitting on the other side of the first man, a lithe brunette with a pleasant smile, punches the first man in the arm and gestures at the camera.

The first man does not show any inclination to raise his head and mutters something that makes the young man blush and the second man laugh, as does the dark-skinned young woman in a lovely dress sitting by the young man’s side.

“– and this film chronicles their epic journey to reunite, despite the many hardships they encountered along the way. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: 500 Miles.”

An orchestral score begins to play as the lights dim and a giant screen descends to the center of the stage.

A vaguely audible “Oh, god, kill me now” can be heard from the position of the group that had been the subject of the camera focus a few minutes before.

———The Beginning———

“What’s all the big fuss?” Mick asks the first group of people he finds climbing out of their cars with duffle bags and a scared expression, poking his head out of the side of the car he’d hotwired. They’d reached the same conclusion as him - the highway, filled with cars, was never going to start moving again.

Mick wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, because he’d been at the fireworks convention for the last few days, slept the sleep of the thoroughly satisfied yesterday, slouched around the house for one lazy day to indulge in the feeling of having been around so many beautiful fires, and today he’d started heading back to the rendezvous point with Len. Same as always.

Except for the bizarre traffic patterns getting in his way. It’s been three hours - they should have moved a little.

“It’s - the radio - they’re saying -” the father of the group is stuttering.

The little girl, about eleven, has no such issues. “There’s zombies everywhere and they’re gonna kill us all!”

“Jessie!”

“What? It’s true!”

Mick blinks. He hadn’t been listening to the radio, though apparently that was an oversight. But really, zombies? That has to be a joke.

He flicks it on.

“– more sightings of the alleged ‘zombies’ have been reported in every major city and many rural areas. People are advised to stay indoors where possible and to report any instance of contagion to the military hotline, reachable at –”

He flicks it off.

“Huh,” he says. “Zombies. Okay, then.”

He climbs out of the car, because they’re definitely not getting anywhere by car. He grabs the backpack he’d brought along for the trip, which had everything he needed – a change of clothing, the solar generator for his heat gun, a hard-copy map and a couple of snacks – and straps his gun back onto his thigh.

“Guess I’m gonna have to walk this one,” he says, shaking his head at the thought. Cross-country hiking was never his idea of a good time, but he can manage.

“Walk?” the father asks. “Walk where?”

“Central City,” Mick replies.

“What’s in Central City?” the mother asks. “They said the zombie outbreak was everywhere, especially the cities.”

“Yeah, but Central City’s gonna solve the problem,” Mick says confidently.

“Why Central City in particular?”

“Because Central City’s got someone with a plan to handle this,” Mick says. Central City’s got Len, after all; they’ve never actually discussed what they should do in the event of a zombie apocalypse – the few times it came up while drunk and watching movies, they usually assumed they’d be together during it – but Mick knows Len. Len will have a plan. Len will enact that plan.

The zombies don’t stand a chance.

“You think they’ll be able to beat the zombies?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Mick says.

“But how are you going to get there? There will be zombies all the way there!”

Mick pats his gun. “I’m not worried about zombies,” he says with a smirk. “I can defend myself.”

The whole family exchanges looks. “Could we come with you?” the father asks hesitantly. “To Central City, I mean. It’s as good a destination as anywhere else – I don’t trust the military shelters they’re talking about on the radio.”

Mick blinks. He hadn’t thought about taking stragglers, but he guesses there’s no reason why not. After all, it’s useful to have someone to keep watch while he sleeps.

“Sure,” he says. “As long as you keep up, you’re welcome to come with me.”

“And you’re sure they’ll be able to win? Even against zombies?”

“I’m sure,” Mick says.

After all, a zombie crisis is not really that different from any other, and he knows what to do during a crisis.

Get back to Len’s side.

———The End———

“– I mean, man, it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before,” the young man with the long, braided hair said earnestly to the camera. “It was, like, a religious experience, you know? All of mankind, getting together, in all its different shades and complexity, in one group, and we followed our leader to the promised land.”

“It was just like they always said it’d be in church,” a young black woman adds in. Her hair curls in tight corkscrews and frame her face like a halo. “I never really listened, you know? What do they know, they’re all old and boring, that sort of thing. But it was just like they said. I opened my heart, and I felt the truth of it.”

“He led us to the promised land,” the young man repeats. “All the way from the coast to the heartland. He pulled us together when we were scattered. But he wasn’t, like, snooty about it or anything. I wouldn’t have thought that the prophet would’ve been the sorta guy to sit back and smoke a joint with you – I mean, when I was protesting in favor of legalization, I had that sign and everything, you know, Jesus woulda smoked one, but, you know, I didn’t really think it’d be that way. But it was!”

“He wasn’t doing it for fame,” another man adds, a young Korean man, rubbing his eyes and shifting a little away from the first man. “He didn’t even want to do it at first, I think. But he protected us anyway. He was called, and he answered.”

“He just tore his way through the zombies whenever they attacked,” the first man says. “Fire shooting from his hands.”

“It was a flamethrower,” the black woman says, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive –”

“A flamethrower that works with no visible source of fuel and can roast a zombie to ash from ten yards back?” the first man says skeptically. “Right. That’s what he wants you to think.”

“Listen, you moron; we already live in an age of miracles, we don’t need to be making up –” the young woman says, leaning forward emphatically.

“Hey, hey!” the second man interjects. “What would Mick think about how the two of you are behaving right now?”

They both look shamefaced.

“You’re right,” the woman says. “He’d tell us we had to get our act together and deal with this shit, because it’s the end of the world and there’s no one else to deal with it for us. Whether we like it or not, we’re all in this together.”

“He’s really profound,” the first man says wistfully. “Walking with him was an honor.”

“It really was,” the woman says, and the second man nods. “Let us tell you about how we joined up –”

———The Beginning———

“Goddamn military,” Len snarls. “Wally, make a note, we’re not ever letting them do anything ever again. And I mean ever!”

“You got it, boss,” Wally gasps, the rain slicking down his hair. He looked rather bedraggled, clutching at his coat in an attempt to keep out the storm. Ami, clutching her tablet in its water-proofed case, doesn’t look much better.

“How many do the reports say?” Len asks, stalking along the wall they’d created.

“They brought a whole Marine battalion,” Wally says.

“How many companies?”

“Last thing we heard before they realized we were listening on their frequency, three, but undersized,” Ami volunteers.

“So we’re dealing with anywhere from a few hundred to nearly a thousand,” Len says grimly. “We can’t assume any of them got out of that hell-hole military base without infection. How goes the building of the wall?”

“Points A through D report that they’re on schedule. E and F are reporting trouble with flooding –”

“I’ll go there now and freeze them a dam,” Len decides, turning on his heel and stalking towards there. “Not that I think the zombies will really give a dam about it…”

“That was awful, boss,” Ami says.

“Let it go,” Wally tells her. “Complaining just makes him worse.”

“No, I actually rather enjoyed it,” Ami says. “But it was awful. Factually.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says. “How are our squad leaders doing? Everyone in position?”

“Yeah,” Wally says. “Everyone’s checked in, it’s all good. We’ve got car lights on every wall, so we’ve got visibility for at least thirty feet all around, even with this damn rain.”

“If we had a few more of your cold guns, we’d be golden,” Ami says with a sigh.

“Sorry, my sister took her gun with her,” Len says, not without regret. “And we don’t have enough cryogenic power sources for another gun.”

“The cold grenades you were able to work up are a pretty decent alternative,” Ami assures him. “Also, engineering loves you.”

“It’s called thinking outside the box,” Len says. “Or outside the bomb, anyway. Everyone knows not to activate them –”

“– until we see the whites of their eyes, yeah, yeah,” Wally says. “Everyone knows.”

“Good,” Len says. “We’ll send the runners out as soon as E and F are ready to deal with an attack, if necessary; they’ll lure them in towards where we’re strongest, so hopefully E and F won’t have to fight at all. Doesn’t mean it ain’t a good idea to make sure they’re secure. Wally, go to point A; I want to make sure the runners know that if they try to be a hero, I’m gonna hunt them down and kill ‘em myself.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Ami, point C. I want our electronics team working on getting the goddamn grid back up right away. And if the federal government sends a message, tell ‘em we’re seceding.”

Ami hides a smile very badly. “Yes, boss,” she says. “Anything else I should mention?”

“Yeah. Central City’s a dictatorship, namely mine, and they’ve gotta apply for diplomatic status if they want anywhere near our borders.” He pauses. “Oh, and make up some stupid-ass limbo shit they’ll have to go through to get diplomatic status approval. Check with poli-sci and the D&D foucs groups for ideas.”

“Yes, boss!”

“Stop ‘yes, boss’-ing me and go,” he snaps.

They dash away.

Len stalks forward, mind already busy with plans to protect his city from an armed, infected battalion of soldiers who just couldn’t be bothered to listen to the warnings of a mere criminal.

He’s too busy for it, but he takes a moment to be happy that Mick isn’t here, though he would love to have him by his side.

He hopes Mick’s safe, wherever he is.

He hopes Mick’s near –

But not too near.

———The End———

The chaos raged about the countryside the dead rose from the grave, a stormy sea where every ship was strained and all were tried; surrounded by dread gates, nowhere to flee. The earth was churned by feet worn down to bone and hands that grabbed in a full-swelling tide under a moon that froze the human throne and burned in light those who had died. But as their horde approached our wretched wall, Despair tearing at bricks, we would not bow. These heroes stood so that we might not fall, For Central’s death would not, for them, be now. Our walls did fall, but we–the people–stay, knowing how close we came to death that day.

THE ZOMBIE CYCLE, SONNET. 6 – Harris “H.R.” Randolph-Wells

———The Beginning———

Mick grew up in the country.

Oh, sure, it liked to call itself a suburb of Keystone, but it was so far out in the sticks that Keystone was ashamed to admit to it. He knows exactly how it works, out in the places that are only theoretically tamed; he knows the dirt fields that appear out of nowhere, the hidden dangers in the pleasant pool of water, the way it gets dark.

It gets very, very dark.

And nowadays, there are more things that roam in the dark than just wild animals.

“Follow me,” Mick bellows, but his (surprisingly large, now that he looks at them) band of tagalongs mill aimlessly, panicking, as the groans of the approaching zombies become audible. It’s worse, in the dark - they have flashlights that do nothing, car lights that do nothing but make people claustrophobic - because they can hear them, humanity’s nightmare in its hideous infectious glory, they can hear them, but they can’t see them.

“We’ll lose them when we cross the river,” he bellows. “Just cross the river! Follow me!”

It does no good.

They’re caught in the panic and the terror of the night.

Mick knows that they’ll be safe if they only cross the river - terrifying to do late at night, he knows, fording a river is dangerous even outside of the Oregon Trail games - but it’s the only chance they’ve got. The fucking idiots that left the group to go to the Walmart accidentally drew the attention of an entire zombie horde, then led them right back to the group.

He could go himself. Him, and the others who aren’t crazy with fear, and he’d get father and faster without the stupid tagalongs that joined up with him, most without even asking. They just saw people walking and decided that they’d better follow, because at least someone seemed to know what they were doing. Didn’t even ask, half the time.

They’re not his crew. They’re not his anything. He doesn’t know them, they don’t know him. He could leave them now for the monsters to get.

Mick snarls.

He hates not being the scariest monster out there.

Mick holds his gun to the sky and shoots up.

It’s a waste of charge and fuel, he knows that, emptying his gun in a pillar of fire against the vacant skies when he’d much rather turn it against some zombie monsters, but it works.

All the panicking masses turn and look at him.

“Get sticks,” he orders, lifting his voice as loud as he can. “Big sticks, and whiskey. We’ll make ourselves light and fire, and then all you need to do is follow the fire.”

Weary, dazed, scared eyes look at him.

Shit, this isn’t Mick’s area of expertise. He can’t convince them to follow him; can’t convince them to save their own damn lives. He’s not good with people. Too big, too angry, too dumb - he doesn’t have Snart’s silver tongue or Lisa’s charming ways.

But he does have fire.

“Follow the fire,” he orders them, and backs off, gun held aloft, flames shooting up in a line that can be seen a mile away. “Come on, you idiots! Follow the fire!”

And he’s almost entire sure that it’s not going to work, but it does. The first few people stagger towards him. Then the next few after that, and then little by little the whole group is moving.

“Follow the fire,” Mick bellows, again and again. And then they start saying it too - “Follow the fire,” they whisper, through fear-bitten lips and chattering teeth. “Follow the fire.”

A lot of voices, saying it. Saying it again and again, all together, until it’s a mantra that even the people way in the back can hear and understand.

And Mick backs away the whole time, backs down to the river front and into the river, makes them keep going. He stays in there, even though it’s cold and wet and awful, because they need to see him to keep going. People help each other through the muck, whispering to each other, “Follow the fire.” Those that begin to lose energy are pulled along, even carried, and though they can’t walk, they groan the line along with everyone else.

Mick keeps the fire burning until the last one of them has crossed the river, collapsing on the banks of the other side. Only when each and every one of his stupid follow-alongs has made it does he turn off the gun and fall onto his ass, shoulders sinking with exhaustion.

“Like in Genesis,” someone next to Mick mutters, voice dull with exhaustion and the remnants of terror. “Follow the pillar of fire to the promised land.”

“Fire,” someone else agrees. “Fiery fire.” And then another someone starts laughing, and that does it. They’re all laughing, even Mick, and he has no idea why.

When the laughter dies, someone turns to Mick and asks, “What do we do with Alex and Mikhail?”

Mick just stares, because he has no fucking clue who that is.

“The fuckers that brought down the horde on us,” another guy clarifies, looking like he’s considering being angry but he’s a bit too tired to be totally sold on it yet. “We need to punish them.”

“No, we don’t,” Mick objects, and weirdly enough they all look at him. “They were just being dumb,” he says. “You’re all going to be dumb eventually, and when you are, you’ll be glad for it.”

He has no idea what he means - he knows he doesn’t want to be part of any ‘punishment’; he’s been in too many prisons to ever trust mob justice - but he knows he can’t let it happen.

“No shame in being dumb,” he tells them, and they even seem to be listening. “We all start that way. Way I see it, it’s our job to get the dumb ones the rest of the way there.”

“Carry them through the water,” someone says. Mick’s not sure who. It’s dark.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”

And then, even though he wants nothing more than to sleep right where he’s lying, he stands up. It’s more bravado and sheer pig headed stubbornness than anything else driving him now.

“Get sticks and whiskey,” he says again. “We’re going to have torches - tonight, and every night. We’re gonna follow the fire all the way there.”

He only means that it’ll be easier for such a large group to stay together if they have something bright to follow, but people start muttering again - “follow the fire,” they say, again and again, like it’s some sort of lifeline - and Mick’s not entirely sure what to do with that.

But it makes them stand up, the ones who still can, and that’s all that matters right now.

He’s going to Central City, to find Len, and Len can take care of whatever it is that’s growing right in front of Mick’s eyes. He’s sure Len will be able to handle it.

There’s nothing Len can’t handle, given time.

———The End———

– and of course his story is well known – and growing rapidly in popularity.

No one knows where the term 'Archon’ was coined for the enigmatic leader of America’s newest religious movement. Some say it came from his refusal to accept the name of 'prophet’, it being weighed down from a dozen other religions; others claim that there was at one point a serious debate as to whether Mick Rory was an incarnation of the archangel Michael. Regardless, the title seems to have stuck.

For the first time in living memory, we are seeing the resurgence of a new religious movement: open to all, ambiguous in its teachings, and with its leader still alive to theoretically explain them – theoretically, because other than his appearances with Mayor Leonard Snart of Central City (see our list of runners-up!), during which he often remains silent, Archon Rory has frustratingly remained virtually impossible to interview.

He has not even agreed to grant this publication an interview for the present feature -

–excerpt from TIME, “Mick Rory: Person of the Year”

———The Beginning———

“Almost there,” Mick says, squinting up ahead. They’ve been trudging through the suburbs for hours now, heading towards the boundary line that marked off Central City proper from the surrounding area.

A boundary more noticeable from the fact that it was now reinforced by what appeared to be a wall. Made of cars and concrete, and patrolled at regular intervals.

“They’ll never let us in,” Nadia groans. She tugs at her (head cover) anxiously. “This’ll be like that mall.”

“The guys in that mall were just assholes,” Mick tells her firmly. “They didn’t wait ten minutes past the first announcement to try to turn the world into the Mad Max dystopia of their wet dreams.”

“Survivalist militas,” Jerri spits. She’d brought her family to that mall in search of shelter; they’d been one of the ones Mick had rescued in his raid on that mall. She had reason to be angry: they’d been forced to join the militia’s band of “protected” individuals, expected to do chores and follow their absurd rules at the threat of a gun or being thrown out for the zombies.

Mick had enjoyed that raid. Jerri had, too - she wielded a mean baseball bat for a former suburban soccer mom.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m telling you, it’ll be all right.”

He’s pretty sure Len wouldn’t let things in Central get that far out of hand. Gotham was probably under martial law - hell, the cops and the capes there are just panting for the opportunity to really lock it down - but Central? He couldn’t believe it.

Still, no harm in being cautious.

“Nadia, Sharif, Timothy, Chris and Maricruz,” he says. “You’re with me. Jerri, Chaz, you’re in charge of bringing up the rest once we give you the all clear.”

“Sure,” Chaz says. “What’s the all clear?”

“We’ll wave.”

“And what if you want us to keep back?” Jerri asks.

“Chris’ll scream like a little girl,” Mick replies promptly.

Everyone laughs, even Chris. “I only did that once,” he protests, looking amused.

“Three times,” Mick corrects. “And that’s why I’m bringing you - that scream can cut through stone if it needs to.”

Chris is also apparently a somewhat well-known football running back, pre-crisis, which meant he had a remarkable running speed, excellent aim with a gun and a hell of a right hook. He grins good-naturedly.

They go up to one of the breaks in the wall, where someone is waiting with a rifle.

“Hello!” the guard says perkily, well before Mick and his crew can say anything. “Welcome to Central! How’s it going?”

“You mean, other than the zombies?” Nadia asks.

“Well, yes,” the guard says, blushing. “You want to come in? We have quarantine procedures, but everyone is welcome. You can keep your weaponry if it makes you feel better.”

“How’s quarantine work?” Mick asks. “We being tossed in with other suspected infected?”

“No, no - everyone gets their own cubicle, to avoid quarantine contamination. We set up plexiglass so no one feels claustrophobic or alone or anything - the psych department at the university says it’s likely to lead to heightened emotion otherwise - and we let you out after 32 hours. You know, just in case. Oh, and you get food! Do you have any dietary restrictions? We have halal,” he adds, looking at Nadia.

“Holy crap, this is the promised land,” she says, staring.

“How’s that?” the guard asks.

“Just a joke,” Mick adds hastily.

“Okay,” the guard says agreeably, though he still looked a little confused. “Anyway, bring everyone you’ve got. We’re a city; we’ve got room.”

“We’ve got a lot of people,” Mick warns.

“We’ve taken over an entire block of the financial district for quarantine purposes,” the guard replies. “We’ve got a lot of cubicles.”

Mick studies him, but the guard looks legit, and what the hell. They have a lot of people. They could take the guardhouse if they really needed to.

He turns and waves.

They begin to come - first in groups, then all at once, the whole lot of them, like an ocean of people bringing the tide in.

“Whoa,” the guard says.

“Told you there was a lot,” Mick says with a smirk.

The guard shakes his head in amazement, then pulls out a pad of paper. “Well, we’ll still need basic information for our records - names, origin city, any missing family or friends you’d like us to look for –”

“You’re running a registry?” Chris asks, interested.

“Yeah, we figured it’d be useful if people are missing each other, at least until we get cell phones redistributed. Let’s start with you guys. Names?”

“Mick Rory, Keystone City,” Mick says. “I’m looking for someone –”

“Wait, wait,” the guard interrupts. “Mick Rory? Is that what you said?”

Mick frowns. He wouldn’t have thought the open warrants were going to be such an issue, in light of everything, but…

“Hold on, I need to call this in,” the guard says, starting to grin. “This is going to be great - you’re to go straight to the main building – I’ll get someone to show you the way –”

Mick’s frown deepens. That didn’t sound like an arrest. “How’s that?”

“What about quarantine?” Nadia asks.

“He can do his quarantine in the main building; there are still quarantine cubes there,” the guard says. “We all got told in training that Mick Rory gets sent straight there, Mayor’s orders.”

“What does the Mayor of Central City want with our Mick?” Maricruz asks, her voice low and sweet and steely as always.

“Just to see him, I think,” the guard says. “Honestly, I don’t really question Mayor Snart’s orders.”

“Hold up,” Mick says. “Did you just say Mayor Snart?!”

———The End———

“I can’t go in there,” she said. “I can’t - it reminds me of the dark of the night when the zombies first attacked, when I was all alone -”

She turns accusing eyes on Adam. “You told me you’d be by my side the whole way.”

“It’s not his fault,” the guard said, his voice soft. Isabelle turned to look at him.

He was, now that she was looking, startlingly beautiful in his own way - his hair was long and braided, his skin dark as polished oak, his eyes fair. He held out his hand to her.

Isabelle took it instinctively.

“He can’t follow you into quarantine,” the guard explained. “It’s to keep us safe, all of us - and no one can be excluded. Even our own scouting parties have to go through quarantine after a long expedition. So many lives are at stake - we can’t let even one person hiding a bite in.” His eyes were wide and sorrowful; he had clearly known great loss.

Isabelle felt strangely affected by it - almost like she knew him, knew his sorrow - it wasn’t like Adam, how they’d bickered and fought, growing closer every step of the journey; this was something immediate. Something magical.

“What’s your name?” she breathed.

“Jonas,” he says.

“I’m Isabelle.”

“And I’m Adam,” Adam says, stepping forward, putting a hand on Isabelle’s shoulder. A possessive hand, one that would have thrilled her beyond understanding not even three hours earlier. “We traveled the Great Route together, in Archon Rory’s train.”

“Then you have done a great thing,” Jonas says, letting go of Isabelle’s hand only reluctantly, meeting Adam’s eyes dead on. “Perhaps, after the quarantine, I will have the honor of showing you around the city, Isabelle. But for now, follow me.”

She shivers as the two strong men eye each other warily. Could it be that they were fighting over her? That Jonas felt that same instant connection? Oh, but what about Adam - they’d been together through so much -

Isabelle would never have expected her life to become this; not in a million years.

- excerpt from “A Rescued Beauty”, the brand new romance novel by Adrienne Masters.

———The Beginning———

“Mayor,” Mick says. “Mayor.”

“Shut up,” Len says.

They were separated by a glass wall, the little Plexiglas box that Mick had to stay in for quarantine; he would mind it a lot more except that Len kept prowling around it, like he can’t wait for the time to be up. He felt like he was one of those beautiful paintings that museums kept locked up, one of the ones Len bent the full power of his considerable intellect on obtaining for his own. He’d never felt that before; it was strangely exciting.

“Besides, I hear you started a religion,” Len adds.

“I did not,” Mick protests, but he’s not so dumb as to deny that one may, in fact, have been started. “They did it on their own.”

“It’s still a cult of personality based on you.”

“Can I make 'em all drink kool-aid?”

Len’s smile is there and gone. “Your precious babies? I bet you know all of 'em by name.”

Mick prefers nicknaming people, but with a group that large he didn’t have any choice but to start learning names. But damnit, they’re not his babies.

He tells Len as much.

“Uh, huh,” Len says. “Jerri says to tell you that the pigeons are all fine.”

“Oh, good,” Mick says. “They’re skittish, though can’t blame them for…” He catches Len’s look. “They’re not actual pigeons; it’s just what I called this one group of kids - they were all out of field trips, and we got their buses to safety, and -” Len’s expression reveals nothing. “They’re not my babies!”

“Mick,” Len drawls. “When I said we could think about adopting, I didn’t mean a whole army of devotees.”

“Says the man who adopted a city.”

“Central’s always been mine,” Len says, sounding like a cat with a whole flock of canaries sitting in front of him. “They’re just getting with the picture is all.”

“Mayor.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you even know what a mayor does?”

“I have an entire poli-sci department at my beck and call,” Len says haughtily.

“So, no.”

“Not a clue,” Len concedes cheerfully, though his amusement is brief and the scowl comes back. He glares at the glass. “How much longer did they say?”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Mick says, amused. “You missed me?”

“Started to get worried after so long with no contact,” Len says. “You being a delicate flower and all that.”

“Lenny…”

“Don’t you 'Lenny’ me. Don’t you know how to use a phone?!”

“There weren’t any,” Mick says reasonably. “Most of the south was put on communications blackout. Military took down electronics everywhere.”

“We were too,” Len admits. “I had them put the grid back up.”

Len had an entire electric grid set up just to make sure he wouldn’t miss it if Mick tried to call.

Mick feels all warm and fuzzy.

“I hate having to wait,” Len says.

“I would never have known that about you,” Mick lies virtuously. Len’s as patient as you get on the job; it’s in personal stuff that he gets anxious.

“Yeah, yeah,” Len says.

“Don’t you have important mayor stuff you need to be doing?”

“I have sub-lieutenants for a reason,” Len says. “As do you. They can live without me for a short time.” He scowls. “Not that I’m doing anything.”

Mick thought about that for a second, the shrugs and pulls off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Len asks.

“Giving you something to do,” Mick says agreeably.

“Something to do?”

“Yeah. Watch.”

Turns out Mick likes being looked at like some precious thing that someone wants to steal away, as long as it’s Len who’s doing the looking.

Fascinating, the things you learn about yourself during an attacking zombie crisis.

———The End———

Buzzfeed’s 10 Top Unbelievable Stories That Came Out Of The Zombie Crisis

You Won’t BELIEVE What These People Did

…

#6 Sex in the Quarantine Room: Fact or Fiction?

The individualized “mini”-quarantine units - started in Central City by using cubicles and plexiglass, then refined as the practice spread throughout the United States - are the opposite of sexy! But when death is looming as a potential option, anywhere looks appealing. Yes, everyone is put in these quarantine units individually, so touching is a no-no, but nothing will stop these brave outside-the-box thinkers, not even being literally in the box! There are reports of at least three confirmed incidents and potentially dozens more - there are even rumors that one of the most famous reunions, that of Mayor Leonard Snart and Archon Mick Rory, featured some of this!

———The Beginning———

Wally didn’t want to tell Len about the rumors at first, that much was obvious, but if the last few months of fighting side-by-side has done anything, it’s taught Len every single one of the kid’s tells.

“Tell me,” Len orders.

Wally tells him.

Len gets up and goes to solve the problem, because he’d known that there was some type of pernicious rumor dampening morale and he’d even known more or less who was spreading it, he hadn’t know exactly what it was. The downside of leadership, he supposed; they tried as much as possible to keep him out of the loop.

He hated being out of the loop.

Maybe he should establish a spy network? That’s what the television said leaders did instead of gossiping.

He’d ask at the next general assembly meeting. The LARPers will support him, at least; they think that stuff’s cool.

Mick will think it’s cool, if he ever manages to escape the stupid temple they’re building for him. Oh, sure, they’re calling it a ‘gathering place’, but Len knows what they really mean, even if Mick hasn’t quite accepted the reality of it yet.

The knot of ill-wind huddled around the statue of Bovine that oversaw the side lawn in front of the Agricultural Studies Department. It was easily accessible from the front lawn and from multiple buildings; they were going to have quite an audience.

Good.

Eyes followed Len, as they always did; he’d become uncomfortably aware that many of the people who came in through the quarantine lines saw Len as personally responsible for saving them, which was of course absurd and undoubtedly the remnants of shock after being attacked by zombies. Many had heeded Len’s early hijacked radio announcements - courtesy of the combined efforts of the media studies college-radio host and the comp-sci hackers - to stay in their homes, that rescue was coming; many had thought it was a lie and expected death, so they were pleasantly surprised when Len’s squads collected them and hurried them over to quarantine.

Len knows how to play an audience, though, and he’s worn his blue parka so much that the mere sight of it acts like a beacon.

So all eyes are on him when he stops in front of the small crowd of students milling around the statute.

“I hear,” he drawls, eyeing them all, “that somebody here’s got some beef with the Flash.”

Silence for a long moment.

And then foolishness prevails, someone assuming that Len’s reputation was a better guide than his tone of voice.

“He abandoned us!” someone shouts. “He should have been here to stop the zombies, and he wasn’t!”

“He’s fast! He could have saved all those people!”

“Where is he, anyway? Hiding or something?”

“Yeah!” “That’s right!” “Where is he?”

Len waits until the crowd is bubbling with anger and then fires his cold gun into the air, letting the shockwaves of cold air silence people as effectively as a gunshot with less chance of the bullet hitting someone when gravity pulls it back down.

“Are you all stupid?” he asks as politely as he can, his voice pitched to carry. “Some of you are young, so I’ll grant you that, but those of you who see yourself as past the age of reason - for shame.”

“You know where he is?” one undergrad, who had been one of those yelling most fiercely, a raggedy Flash t-shirt barely visible under her coat, asks meekly.

“I know the Flash,” Len answers, and he seriously can’t believe he has to do this. How quickly people forget. “I fought the Flash. You know as well as I do that he’d never abandon this city. You’re just so used to him doing all the work that you’ve forgotten that he’s just a man, in the end. He’s a fucking volunteer.”

His eyes review the ranks and they wilt before him.

“I’m sure you’ve all volunteered for something,” he says, “either before or during this crisis. Ain’t it hard, doing something without any expectation of reward? Throwing yourself - your body - against the worst this city can come up with on a regular basis? But the Flash does it. He does it again and again. And I am willing to bet that he’s doing it now.”

“But where is he?”

“The zombie plague came from somewhere,” Len points out, carefully omitting that he actually did have a good idea of where the Flash was and what he was fighting, courtesy of Wally. Some information didn’t need to be shared, and the existence of a stable breach to an alternative dimension that wanted to poison yours was definitely one of them. “I’m willing to bet he’s there, keeping the worst of it away. That, or he’s dead and you’re all on your own. Pick whichever theory you prefer.”

“Why do you care?” someone in the back, feeling brave in their anonymity, shouts.

“He’s my nemesis,” Len says. “Judge a man by his enemies, and whatnot. But more importantly, I’ve never in my life blamed a volunteer for not being able to do more than they can, and I ain’t starting now.”

His eyes narrow. “And since you all seem pretty content sitting here, swapping grievances instead of helping out in quarantine, the clinic, the cafeteria, sanitation or the fields - it’s not like we don’t have options - I’m guessing you’re all gonna be pretty happy with that tendency.”

Several people look shame-faced.

Len consults his mental version of the enhanced catalogue they’ve made, the school version merged with the IDs of everyone who they brought inside.

“Katy,” he says to one. “You’re chemistry. I expect to see you helping out in the labs.” Her eyes go wide. “Rakesh,” he continues. “Shira. Matt. The cafeteria needs extra help today.”

He goes down the line, smile painted firmly on his face, naming each of them and assigning them a task. It’s a good thing he prepared ahead of time, noting who seemed to be the source of the trouble, because even Wally is gaping at him, utterly impressed, and that kid isn’t surprised by anything anymore.

“Now,” he says, concluding his recital, “you’re all volunteers, you’re all here, and right now, you’re all we’ve got to rely on. No Flash, no heroes, just you. So get to it.”

He pauses.

“Oh, and the next person who wants to talk shit about the Flash behind his back?” he adds, icy smile growing on his lips. “Just remember that the Flash beat me once, one on one, and I’d be more than happy to find myself a new nemesis to keep me busy while he’s gone. Anyone who thinks they’re better than he is had better be ready to prove it.”

Oddly enough, there don’t seem to be many volunteers for that.

———The End———

fansagainstzombies: CALLOUT: do NOT apologize for zombies!!! they are mass murderers and MUST BE STOPPED. u cannot sympathize with zombies and still be on the side of their victims.. it is upestting and rude to all zombie survivors. DO NOT NORMALIZE ZOMBIES. THEIR ACTIONS HURT PEOPLE AND ARE COMPLETEY INEXCUSABLE.

justiceforthedead66: excuse me?? zombies were people just like us and we need to HELP them, it isn’t there fault that their killing people, their sick and not in their right mind, we need to find a CURE, not just MURDER these INNOCENT PEOPLE

fansagainstzombies: *their *they’re *they’re you’re argument is invalid. go back to 2nd grade, where your politics belong

theyliveagainandagain: [popcorn.gif]

zombiezombiezombiemushroommushroom: Guys, you’re taking this all too seriously.

fansagainstzombies: they were KILLING PEOPLE. WTF even is WITH this hellsite

———The Beginning———

“We’ve been gone how long?!” Cisco exclaims.

“Six months,” Felicity explains, staring at the screen. “Looks like it was a six to one ratio - one day there, six here. And it’s, uh - there’s a communications blackout. Mostly.”

“What? Why?” Iris asks.

“Uh,” Felicity says.

Sara peers over her shoulder. “Wait,” she says. “Zombies? But I thought - we went to stop them!”

“We did,” Joe says grimly. “Some of it must have gotten through regardless.” He rubs his hands on his face. “God, and Wally’s still there.”

“Thea,” Oliver breathes.

“We have to go back to Central,” Barry says. His hands are shaking. His city - he’d thought he was doing the right thing, chasing the cure and fighting the Necromantics, the inventors of the plague, all the way back to their own dimension, and in the meantime, his city, his responsibility was…

“Actually,” Felicity says, “looks like Central’s doing okay.”

“What?!”

“No, really - I’m reading military chatter, and Central City gets mentioned a whole bunch of times. Like, a bunch of times. By the time the military showed up to offer help - and not much help, either, we’re talking, like, food drops - the city said thanks but no thanks, we’re doing okay. And then started broadcasting - through the electrical grid they set up themselves after the military knocked the old one down, yeesh, now they’re just trying to make the rest of us look bad - information to other cities. They’ve got quarantine methods, zombie fighting methods - hell, they’ve been doing a weekly seminar on how to keep zombies away from your crops, and that’s, like, not even a serious issue yet.”

Barry blinks.

“They did say they would be interested in a cure if it were found,” Felicity adds. “Their new mayor, that is; he’s the one that led the whole movement against the zombies.”

Iris nudges Barry. “Looks like we made the right choice after all.”

Barry smiles helplessly. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.” There was something he wanted to say, something profound, maybe, about how much it means that they all got up to fight, that Central, of all overlooked places, is now standing out as a beacon of hope to the rest of the country…

“Our city is so much cooler than yours,” Cisco crows.

Or that.

That works.

“We should still head back,” Barry says, not even trying to hide his grin. “Oliver, unless you need help?”

Oliver shakes his head. “Easier without you, to be honest,” he says. “Star City is - complicated. At the best of times.”

“I’ll stick around and help Oliver,” Sara offers. “You go, Barry.”

Barry nods, and turns to look at his friends - Joe and Iris, Cisco and Caitlin. “C'mon, guys. I wanna meet this new mayor. Looks like we’ve got a lot to thank him for.”

———The End———

“As president of the United States during these dark times,” the president says, “it is my honor to bestow upon these heroes a medal that they have long deserved. We recognized them first during the alien invasion of 2016, and there we recognized them as heroes - individuals, meta or human, that were willing to put themselves forward to help their fellow man at risk to themselves.”

Barry shifts awkwardly.

Oliver doesn’t shift at all.

Sara looks like she wishes she was literally anywhere else.

“These heroes took the fight to its origin, fighting the creators of the zombie plague to a standstill and returning, triumphant, with a vaccine designed to prevent any new infections -”

“Only six months late,” Barry mutters under his breath. He was still pissed about that. Six months, his city had been without its hero, while he piddled around fighting bad guys in an alternate dimension.

Not that his city had been in bad hands…well, technically ‘bad’ hands, but not, like, bad hands…

“We got the cure,” Sara points out, also sotto voce.

“Yes, but…”

“Shhhh. She’s getting to our part,” Oliver interjects.

They quiet down, then step forward when instructed to let the president pin medals onto them.

“Now, our heroes will say a few words.”

Oliver nudges Barry. They’d agreed that he should do it, since he was well known as the Flash - though less well known than Oliver Queen - and he could adjust his voice like he’d stopped doing in Central ages ago. Also, he was apparently “charming”.

Barry goes forward. “Thanks,” he says. “We appreciate these medals; nothing means more to us than the people we protect, and we are honored to do so. We do it because it’s the right thing to do, not for any thanks - but it sure is nice!” He pauses to let the audience laugh, which they do, then changes from his prepared remarks. “I’d also like to thank you, the people, for standing up when we couldn’t be here. In city after city, town after town, people stood up and showed that you don’t need meta powers or special training to be a hero in a crisis. This medal belongs as much to you, people of America - people of the world - as it does to me. We do what we do not because we think you can’t. We know you can. We do it because you shouldn’t have to.”

Oliver is glaring hard enough that Barry’s half-worried he’ll develop Kara’s heat vision.

“We should have been there during the zombie crisis, done more, and trust me, no one regrets our absence more than me,” he continues anyway. “But you don’t need us - and you proved it. Thank you.”

Confused applause.

“I’m going to kill you,” Oliver says once they’re backstage.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Sara points out.

“That sounded like a retirement speech.”

“It wasn’t,” Barry says. “But I do think we should be partnering more with local authorities. Look at how much they achieved.”

“Your city got taken over by a supervillain while you were gone.”

“He’s the mayor now,” Barry replies. “You need to get over it already.”

———The Beginning———

People were happy to see him.

The Flash, that is. He got waves and a handful of “Hey, Flash!"s, and no one seemed to hold it against him that he’d been gone.

They made it almost all the way to the university center - they’d been excused from quarantine only because they’d been in a different universe, and anyway there were people hanging around to keep an eye on them in case they turned - before someone calls out, "Hey, Flash! Where you been?”

“I, uh,” Barry says. “Fighting the guys that invented the zombie thing. Getting a cure.”

“Knew it,” the guy responds in satisfaction, and turns back to what he’d been doing - repairing one of the barricades that seemed to dot the city now.

Somehow word spread, though, and less than fifteen minutes later a horde descended.

Well, just like eight or ten people, but they felt like a horde.

Biochemistry majors and professional chemists and pharma people and Tina McGee, who was a horde all by herself, in the lead.

“You have a cure?” she asks Caitlin.

“Yes,” Caitlin replies, and is promptly whisked away to the wonders of science and medicine.

Barry feels a bit like a supporting character in someone else’s (Caitlin’s) exciting biomedical thriller/action novel. It’s kind of a nice feeling.

Joe rejoins them.

“I thought you were going to find Wally,” Iris says.

“Apparently he’s in the mayor’s office,” Joe says, shrugging. He looks relieved; hearing that Wally was doing okay had clearly lifted a weight off his shoulders. He grins. “Besides, I want to meet this new mayor, too. Where did Caitlin…?”

“Don’t ask,” Cisco says.

Good to know that he was just as shaken by the horde as Barry was.

Then they get to the university and get shown into the mayor’s office.

“Flash!” Snart exclaims from behind the desk.

“Captain Cold?!” Cisco hisses.

“Flash, tell me you’re here to arrest me,” Snart demands.

Barry blinks.

That was…new.

“Um,” he says. “I don’t think so?”

“None of the police will do it anymore,” Snart says. His eyes are rimmed with red, like he’s been having trouble sleeping. “Waste of time, the whole lot. But you’re a superhero. You could do it. Just pop me over to Iron Heights.”

“We’d have you back by lunchtime,” Wally says. He’s slumped over a nearby chair. “And then you’d still have to attend the council meeting.”

Snart sighs. “Fine,” he says sulkily. “Never mind, then.”

“Wally!” Joe exclaims. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Snart says snippily. “He’s no doubt skipping the meeting on the basis of a long-awaited family reunion.”

“You bet your ass I am, boss,” Wally replies fondly.

“Wally, hold up a damn second,” Joe says. “Why are you calling Leonard Snart boss?”

“I’m his secretary,” Wally says. “Or possibly chief henchman. It varies by the day, really.”

They all stare at him.

“Oh, and he’s also the mayor now,” Wally adds.

Pandemonium.

———The End———

mymayorissexierthanyourmayor: LOOK AT THESE GIFS. LOOK AT THEM. How are these people real???

sssssnartssmarts: I love it when Snart and Rory kiss in public. It’s so fucking cute.

flameboycoldboy: This gives me life. Look at that adorable little face Rory makes when Snart kisses him!! [awwyouhaveacrushonmethat’ssoembarassingwe’remarriedstill.gif]

followtheflamewar: see this is why I can’t believe either of them is cheating with that Barry Allen guy

mymayorissexierthanyourmayor: yes, but have you considered: possible polyamory??

followtheflamewar: there’s no way to tell for sure tho!! at least we know the Ramon Glider ship is sailing – they’ve been going on dates like all the time

sssssnartssmarts: god those two make me so happy [lifegoals.gif]

———The Beginning———

“Joe’s still pissed off,” Barry reports.

“Let him be,” Iris says dismissively. “I’ve got your back, bro.”

“You’re the best,” Wally says. “Actually…”

“That wasn’t an offer to help with your paperwork!”

“Not paperwork!” he says, though he looks shifty-eyed. “Just – could you go out with Barry to the airport field over in Ashberry?”

“That’s outside of the line,” Barry says, frowning. “I know we’ve been distributing the cure, but…”

“But you’re a super speedster and can get them all,” Wally says earnestly. “So it, like, shouldn’t be a problem!”

“I’m helping repair the walls…”

“It’ll be super short,” Wally promises. “I just need someone to go pick up Lisa or else the boss gonna want to do it himself and that’s just – no.”

“I’ll do it,” Cisco says. “Uh. I mean. If no one else is. I could do it.”

His attempt at being casual fools literally nobody.

“I’ll take Cisco with me,” Iris says.

“But!” Barry protests.

“Relax,” Wally says. “Cisco, Iris, and two squads.”

“I don’t need two squads of backup,” Iris says, scowling.

“Probably not,” Wally says. “But it’s the rules. You don’t want to put up a bad example for everyone else, do you?”

Iris eyes him. “You’re getting sneaky.”

“I’m a politician’s aide,” Wally says. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Can we go now?” Cisco says hopefully. “I want to see Lisa.”

Iris rolls her eyes.

———The End———

“You had better make the weather fucking perfect,” Lisa says poisonously to Mardon.

“It’s perfect,” he assures her. “75, sunny, scattering of clouds, mild breeze.”

“Hartley -”

“The sound systems are perfect,” he sniffs. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Shawna -”

“I’ve done a head-count of all the guests, everyone’s here, and your fiancé is being talked down from a panic attack by the Flash, who’s here in costume,” she reports.

“Scudder and Rosa?”

“Banned from the premises and locked up as tight as Iron Heights, the Flash, and your brother can manage,” Iris reports.

“Good,” Lisa says. “Boys, you’re dismissed; girls, help me adjust my veil.”

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married,” Shawna sighs.

“I still can’t believe it’s going to be covered by the international media,” Iris says. She’s not jealous. Really.

“Don’t worry, you get the first interview afterwards,” Lisa says soothingly. “Or whatever Cisco’s next invention is going to be.”

“I’d better,” Iris says, and they share a grin. They hadn’t anticipated becoming friends, but somehow it’d happened.

Probably sometime around Lisa literally flying back in with a tan and offering to take Iris to her secret island next time there was an invasion of some variety.

There had been protests that there would be no next time, but Iris very reasonably pointed out that their track record hadn’t been great.

After that, well, what with Lisa becoming her brother’s unofficial media spokesperson slash chief of staff, it was really only business sense to cultivate the relationship. And they got to regularly have lunch on Central City Picture News’ dime, something they could both appreciate.

Lisa’s face twitches.

“Yes, you’re getting married,” Iris says immediately, recognizing the onset of nerves. “Yes, it’s a good idea – even Len likes Cisco – and yes, your dad is really, truly, totally dead. Deader than dead. We’re planning on having Mardon hit his grave with lightning as a wedding present.”

Lisa grins. “You don’t have to,” she says, but her shoulders are more relaxed. “Not that I’d object. God, how do people do this? This whole wedding thing is just nerve-wracking.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had it at City Hall.”

“But irony points. Also, honestly, where else could we get a reservation at such short notice?”

“Come rain, snow, or zombie invasion, the bridal market in Central City is as competitive as ever,” Iris says. “I’m going to have to book mine years in advance, when it happens.”

“If Len’s still mayor, you could do it here,” Lisa offers.

“You know, I’m suddenly convinced of the virtues of eloping…”

The girls all giggle.

Mardon and Hartley look at each other and make a quick exit.

“Boys,” Lisa says, shaking her head and watching them run. “I clearly got the best of the lot.”

“And just think,” Shawna says, grinning, “you’ll be marrying him in less than two hours.”

“Oh god…”

———The Beginning———

“Allen, swing by my place later tonight, will you?” Len says to Barry as they walk down the main street. “This isn’t really the time. Or place.”

“Right,” Barry says. “I keep forgetting how busy you are nowadays.”

Len rolls his eyes and drops his voice, mindful of the fact that there are paparazzi and camera phones everywhere. “The fact that you’re even coming to me with your super secret plans to establish a metahuman superhero base in Central City is already weird enough. My reputation won’t take much more of this.”

“You’re the mayor,” Barry hisses, leaning back in towards Len. “Your so-called ‘reputation’ is totally shot.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it is.”

Len glares.

Barry glares back.

“Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t reject your proposal out of hand from sheer spite, Scarlet,” Len says back, voice still dropped down low enough that Barry has to lean in closer to hear.

“A, because you’re a better mayor than that,” Barry says. “B, you wouldn’t reject anything out of hand, you’re way too petty for that. You’d let me do the whole presentation first, then reject it.”

“You know me well,” Len says, nodding a little.

“But that’s not the main reason you’re not going to reject the proposal,” Barry says confidently.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what is?”

“Because having the Hall of Justice be located in Central City would be so. freaking. cool.”

“…excellent point. Also, who the hell named it that? Cisco? There’s gotta be something better.”

Barry laughs.

Len shakes his head in amusement and turns to go to his next meeting. How did his schedule have so many meetings? Twisting a little, he calls back over his shoulder, “This evening, my place, 8 PM. And for once in your life, don’t be late.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He leaves Barry in the street shrugging helplessly in an admission of guilt.

———The End———

“Umbrellas!” the man calls out as the group entered the open-air marketplace in Central City Square, multiple individuals checking the darkening sky with some concern. “Get set, don’t get wet! If you pass me by, you won’t stay dry!”

“Fresh fruit, straight from the orchards of Keystone!” a woman shouts from another stall. “Get them fresh right now; they won’t last long! Ripe fruit, fresh fruit, get your fruit here!”

“Leather is better!” a man in a shop filled with bags and boots and other items cries out. “Finest leather goods in Central City! You won’t find any better than our leather!”

“Magazines!” another man calls. “Get your latest news fix here! All the celebrity gossip you could want! Actors, actresses, politicians – you know you want to know!”

One of the group slows down and heads that way to squint at magazine covers. “Hey, guys, look at this!” the young man calls back to the main group. “The title of this one is ‘Barry Allen: Homewrecker Extraordinaire.’”

“What the fuck,” another young man in the group says indignantly, ducking his head when people look over at his exclamation as if he could hide his face.

The first young man pays the magazine seller out of pocket – ten dollars and one Central City credit for good measure – and then carries the magazine in question back. “No, look,” he says, grinning. “On page four – ‘The mysterious Barry Allen, which has of late attracted so much attention from our esteemed mayor, maybe as more than merely a friendly visitor –’”

“Barry, for shame,” one of the woman says, starting to laugh.

“‘He has been seen in company with Mayor Snart at odd hours, including the two of them emerging late at night from Mayor Snart’s office…’”

“That was business!” the second young man squawks. “You know, running business!”

“‘And he has also been seen in the company of Mr. Rory in the evenings –’”

“Wait, hold up, which one is he supposed to be cheating on which one with?” a second young woman says, grinning.

The first young man flips through the pages. “Uh – huh, looks like he’s double-timing Snart with Rory and Rory with Snart, and neither of them have figured it out yet.”

“That’s the most unlikely bit about the whole thing so far,” a dark-skinned young man puts in. “Snart not figuring it out, I mean.”

“Hey!”

“Oh, look, Barry’s also apparently pregnant with a zombie baby.”

“I’m what?”

“The way of the tabloids is strange and mysterious, Bear,” the second woman says. “Just accept it.”

“I hate all of you. Why is this even still being published?”

“Morale, and also Lisa thinks this shit’s funny.”

“But seriously. Why do tabloids get to survive the zombie apocalypse?”

“Zombie crisis, Barry; the world’s still going. And are you really surprised?”

“…no.”

———The End and the Beginning———

“I demand that you do something about this injustice,” Len says to Barry before falling face-first onto the couch.

Mick was on the couch.

Mmm, Mick. That was fine; he could stay.

Barry just snickered, the ungrateful little brat.

Len lifts his head a little - not too much, Mick has put his hands on the back of Len’s neck and started rubbing, and he doesn’t want to discourage that - and glares at Barry.

“I take it from that you’re going to just stand by and do nothing while this continues.”

“Yep,” Barry says.

“Some superhero you are.”

“Terrible,” Barry replies.

“Total waste.”

“Absolutely.”

“Standing by idly while your city’s citizens are being horribly abused - ugh, yeah, Mick, just there; a little harder, will you?”

Mick complies, smirking.

“Len,” Barry says, sounding reasonable, which was surely a sign of the end of the world. “It’s not abuse that your staff wants you to run for governor.”

“But I don’t want to run for governor.”

“You shouldn’t have agreed, then,” Barry points out.

Stupid Barry.

“Wally snuck it by me,” Len says resentfully. “He’s as fast as you, now.”

“I’m sure that helps him with the paperwork,” Barry says soothingly.

“So much paperwork,” Len agrees with a groan. “I think Wally is planning on taking over the world and using me to do it.”

“I’m sure you’re very proud of him, you being a former supervillain and all,” Barry says.

Len considers this. “Well, yeah,” he says. “But does he have to be so public-spirited about it?”

“Just do me a favor,” Mick rumbles, hands still moving very pleasantly on Len’s neck.

“Sure,” Len says drowsily. “Name it.”

“Don’t become president.”

“Hah, please,” Len says. “I’m a former supervillain and I have this for a family life. What’s the likelihood of that ever happening?”

#my fic #dccoldwave #coldflashwave #goldenvibe #mick rory #leonard snart #barry allen #lisa snart #cisco ramon #wally west #zombies

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raspberry-starship · 8 years ago

Text

6. Conquest of Spaces

A/N: GIF ISN’T MINE!

<-- Previous Chapter

Kara heaved Mon-El up the steps of a pod. She dropped him awkwardly into the co-pilot's chair and then sat down in the other. A small console separated them, and she took a long moment, examining all the controls. She flipped switches and he watched through swollen eyelids.

She put her hand on the controls between them, and their ship pulled forwards. It made a strange clanking noise, and he looked up at her.

"It's probably just old." She said, trying to disguise her fear.

He nodded and looked out the window, watching the empty hangar pass by. A body lay in a corner, and he looked away. She flew through a purple shield, and there they were. A vast array of stars lay around them. He leaned forwards, holding in a groan of pain.

He touched the glass and looked out into the expanse. "Wow," he breathed.

She glanced over at him and smiled sadly. She turned forwards again and began to plug in coordinates. He looked at her curiously.

"Isn't it beautiful?" He asked.

She jerked her head to meet his gaze, and then, swallowing, averted her eyes. "Yeah, sure."

"Kara..." He breathed, reaching out for her hand.

She almost pulled away, but then, she let his fingers wrap around hers on the control console between them. She took a deep breath and a firm tone, saying:

"I'm fine, Mon-El," she looked into his blue eyes, "really."

"Who says it's about you?" He smirked through the dried blood covering his cheeks, "Maybe I just need to hold someone's hand."

She smiled and turned her hand over, clutching him back. He sighed and turned back to the stars as they sat, mere inches from him. She watched him slowly.

"It's certainly better than our last view." She said dryly and he snorted.

"I dunno, I didn't always mind the view." He looked up at her and she rolled her eyes, looking in front of them again.

"Who knew a Daxamite could be so cheeky." she said sarcastically, smirking and he laughed, leaning against the headrest of his seat.

"Who knew a Kryptonian could be so stuck up." He countered and she scoffed, smiling slightly.

"I said I liked it better than our other view!" She said defensively.

"Yes well, that's real high praise." He said facetiously.

She sighed, "I just wanna get home, that's all."

"I know." He said softly. "How much longer?"

"About a day," She said, "maybe one and a half. We'll probably get there early in the morning."

"Early enough to see the sunrise?" He asked softly and she looked at him as if she couldn't believe he'd remembered those conversations they both treasured.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "You know, I think we just might make it."

He grinned and slumped further into his chair, and she flipped some more switches. He stopped for a moment, but that was all he needed. He was suddenly thinking about the past again, and not the future.

"Kara?" He asked, looking up at her and knowing she was thinking about the same time.

"Yeah?" She barely whispered.

"What's to stop them from doing it again?" He spoke softly. "What's to stop them from rebuilding their arena, getting a new announcer, kidnapping new fighters?"

She turned to him, and that determined look was in her eyes. "Us." She said, "We're here to stop them. We're going to tell as many planets as we can about smugglers, make them get a better hold on their borders."

"But what if it's not enough?" He asked. "What if they outsmart us? Figure a way around all of it--"

"--Then we just keep trying." She said firmly. "We can't think of an ultimate solution right this second, but we won't let them do this again, Mon-El."

He nodded, swallowing pensively. She gave his hand one last squeeze before she pulled it away and began to fly the ship past nebulae and asteroids. He stared outside like a child, remembering all the times he and his family had traveled the stars together. She sighed and steered them around a small planetoid. She glanced at him, and blinked. She couldn't put her finger on what she was feeling, but she knew that it felt... nice.

* * *

Kara was lying down. She was on her stomach, her hands pressed against something cool and smooth, with light cracks in it. The last thing she remembered was hurtling through the atmosphere. The was surrounded in flames, her hand grasped tightly in his, bound for the desert just outside National City. Once they landed, everything went dark. Someone must have found them. She opened her eyes slowly and lifted her chin; she was on a leather bed. She sat up abruptly and jumped to her feet--there was a glass door.

She suddenly began to breathe rapidly. She slammed her hands against the barrier, and the cool window stung her palms. Visions began to slip through. Suddenly, she wasn't touching glass, but a rock wall. She wasn't breathing in sterilized air but the scent of death and mold. The silence she heard was filled with screams, the light from above yellow sun lamps preparing her for battle. She gripped the roots of her hair and squeezed her eyes shut.

Her pulse was racing, her head felt heavy and worst of all, the pain in her side from not breathing properly. She pressed a hand to her ribs and forced a deep breath into her lungs.

She swallowed and took a step back, her heart beating slower. She inhaled and shot the door point-blank with her heat-vision. The glass fell to the floor, molten orange and sizzling. She stepped over the threshold she'd made and moved to the second door, this one large and metal. She leaned back and kicked it with all her might.

The door flew across the hallway, where she saw men in dark kevlar calling people on their radios. She looked at them through glowing eyes, and all she could see was fear. She swallowed, and almost wanted to surrender just so they wouldn't be afraid, but then alarms began to blare overhead.

They began to shoot at her, bullets bouncing off her chest and hitting the walls around her. She marched forwards and they stumbled back. She let out a furious cry, and they began to run, terrified. She was about to follow when she heard someone screaming desperately.

She could hear him, hear his voice, calling her name over and over. She could feel it somewhere, reverberating around in her chest, like he could send his voice through the air and straight to her heart. She chased his tone, turning around and searching for him. She shoved open a door, and there he was, fists clenched against the glass, forehead pressed hopelessly against it.

"Mon-El," she breathed, and he looked up.

His hands relaxed, palms opening against the glass, dirtying it with his blood. Kara sped towards him, pressing her hands against the barrier separating them.

"Kara--" he began,

"--It's okay," she said quickly, "I'm gonna get you out of here."

She moved to the control panel as he eyed the alarms nervously. "Kara you need to go--"

"--I am not leaving you." She said fiercely, meeting his eyes with an intensity he'd never seen before.

He blinked, and nodded. She turned back to the cell's locks and began to grow more and more frustrated.

"Supergirl!" Someone yelled behind her, "Stand. Down."

She turned slowly to see agents all holding guns that Kara knew she wasn't immune to. Her eyes flickered to the man in front of all of them.

Suddenly, someone came pushing through the crowd. "Stop! Stop!" A woman tumbled forwards, stepping in between the two parties and putting her hands up. "Stop," she said, trying to catch her breath.

She turned from the man and looked at Kara. Her lip quivered slightly, a strand of long brown hair coming loose from her bun. Her deep brown eyes, wide as the night, stared into Kara's.

"Alex?" Kara breathed.

The woman nodded vigorously, tears beginning to slip through her eyelids. "Yeah, Kara," she said, "it's me."

Kara's breath hitched in her throat. It didn't feel real. Everything about this felt like it was too good to be true; felt like something was going to change at any second and destroy her even further.

But then, she looked at Alex, and she knew; she knew it was real. She ran towards her sister, the two meeting in the middle. Kara threw her arms around Alex and sobbed into her shoulder. She lost the strength to stand, and they slowly slipped to the floor. They were a tangle of limbs and tears; Alex's hands stroking Kara's hair, Kara almost bruising her sister's ribs.

"Of course the one time I go to the bathroom you wake up." Alex sniffed, holding her sister close. Kara couldn't help but let out a watery laugh, imagining how long she must've waited by her side.

They leaned back, and Alex suddenly said, "Where have you been?"

Kara blinked and Alex calmed herself, "Please, I just--I need to know."

Kara yanked Alex back into her arms and rubbed her back. "It's, uh," she swallowed, trying not to cry so hard, "it's a long story."

They pulled apart and stared at each other for a moment. Alex brushed a blonde lock off of Kara's forehead with her index finger.

"Okay." Alex whispered, nodding, "When you're ready."

They sat and smiled at each other. Kara couldn't believe this was real. She stared into her sister's familiar eyes and she waited for a feeling of freedom to rush over her. She waited for the sense of security she remembered Alex giving to her. She'd been dreaming about this moment for years, and now it was here. She waited for a long time, longer than she thought she should have.

"Kara," Mon-El said behind her and she turned. He looked at her anxiously through his swollen eyelids and she took a breath.

"We're safe now," She stood, almost forgetting that everyone else was there, watching them. She put her hand against the glass and his moved immediately to line up with hers, "we're safe."

Alex swallowed and stepped close to her sister, "Kara," she said, "we can't let him out."

"Why?" She asked suddenly.

"He tried to attack us when we found you, and we don't know if he has any diseases--"

"--Alex," Kara said, "he didn't know who you were--open the door, please."

Alex hesitated and looked at Kara's eyes, wondering why they had so much emotion in them.

"He's not going to hurt anyone," Kara said, "I promise."

Alex swallowed and nodded, "Okay." She said, inputting the proper code.

The door sprang open, and he froze. She pushed the glass away, and stepped to the side. "Come on," She said gently.

He looked from the threshold, to Kara, to the woman he didn't know.

"Come on, it's okay." Kara said, but he still didn't move. She swallowed and smiled, jerking her head in the direction she was asking him to go, "Come on, Mon-El." She whispered.

He blinked and took a long moment. She was inviting him to leave, not forcing him, not telling him to do anything, but inviting him. These people stood in control of his freedom and he was having a hard time believing they weren't just taunting him. He inhaled slowly, reveling in the feeling of the air rushing through his lungs. He sped out of the cell as if it were on fire. He skidded to a halt next to Kara, eyeing Alex wearily.

"You, uh, must be the sister." He said, after a second, trying not to notice the stunned look on Alex's face. He smiled gently and offered her his hand.

"I guess that answers the question of whether or not you have powers too." Alex said, blinking astonishedly, "You're from Daxam?" Alex asked slowly.

"Yeah." He spoke softly.

She cocked her head slightly. "You okay?" She asked gently.

"Oh, yeah." He said quickly, nodding profusely, "Happy to be on this planet."

"Oh." Alex frowned, "Uh, okay. We're, uh, glad to have you."

"Thank you." He said, looking quite chipper.

"Alright well, why don't you guys come with me? There's someone who wants to see you." Alex smiled, turning on her heel as the men in kevlar filed out of the cell.

Kara walked in front of Mon-El, looking around. He watched her carefully, trying to decipher what she was feeling. They walked into the communications center and he pulled his eyes from her profile. Screens flashed mug shots and shone camera feeds from different places; people with headsets watching intently and typing things on computers.

A man sat at a station, looking like he was cataloguing rocks. He hummed to himself and typed animatedly. He picked up a vial of dust and examined it pensively. Alex walked up to him and Kara stopped, making Mon-El bump into her.

"Winn," Alex tapped his shoulder gently, making him turn, "look who's here."

He turned and for a moment, he didn't understand. Kara looked at him and her lips parted. He seemed to look so much older than before, even though he couldn't be more than thirty-two. He had a pair of horn-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and the crows' feet at the corners of his eyes were more defined. He had a scar in his eyebrow that she'd never seen before. She wondered what he must think of her.

He finally got over the initial shock of seeing her standing there. He took a deep breath and stood slowly, unable to pull his eyes away. He touched his glasses nervously, and then almost ran towards Kara. She took a step forwards and let him wrap her up in a hug.

"Oh my god," he breathed, "it's so good to see you, Kara."

"You too," she smiled, and they pulled away.

She looked down into his teary eyes and then pulled him back into a hug. They stayed there for a long moment. When they finally pulled away, Winn covered his face, trying to hide the tears that were leaking from his eyes. She stepped back, sniffing and wiping her eye.

"Winn, uh," she looked up at Mon-El as he rested an arm on her shoulders reassuringly, "this is Mon-El."

"Right," Winn sniffed, "the, uh, the Daxamite--so nice to meet you." He offered a hand and Mon-El took it graciously.

"Nice to meet you too," He glanced up at Alex, "I've, uh, heard a lot about you guys."

"Really?" Winn raised his eyebrows surprisedly.

"Yeah, well, there wasn't really much else to uh..." he cleared his throat and both he and Kara avoided everyone's eyes, "there wasn't much else to talk about but Earth."

Winn frowned and Alex walked over and sat in a chair. "Where were you guys?" He asked. "And what happened to your face?" He indicated the bruises on Mon-El's cheeks.

"Winn." Alex said warningly.

"What--?" He frowned.

"--No, it's fine--" Mon-El began.

"--No, Kara said she needed some time--" Alex shook her head.

"--Right, but--" Mon-El tried again.

"--Well, you didn't tell me that--!" Winn glared.

"--Well, if you would've waited a second--"

"--Guys!" Kara yelled and they all turned to her. "It's uh, it's fine."

"Kara, are you sure?" Alex asked carefully.

The Kryptonian looked up at the Daxamite, and he shrugged. He seemed to say, "Whatever you want to do." She turned back to her friends.

"I--" Kara began but she stopped.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a little girl. She was looking up at the ceiling of the DEO's foyer, spinning about in lazy circles. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders with bangs that threatened to get in her eyes, her rosy cheeks shone under the sunlight, and she had a small button nose. She was wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a small floral skirt. She couldn't have been more than two or three. Her shoes lit up as she stepped.

Alex straightened away from the table in astonishment. A woman came out of the hall, an adoring smile on her lips. Her dark hair pulled back into a braid, with a few curls loose around her forehead. She wore a black leather jacket and a shield on her hip. She scooped up the little girl, both of them laughing.

Alex walked past Kara and over to the woman. "Hey, sweetheart," she cooed, stroking the little girl's cheek. She leaned over her and kissed the woman's temple, "hey, Maggs."

Maggie beamed up at her, and adjusted her grip on the girl. "Hey, we thought you could use some company."

"Oh, always." Alex grinned.

Kara looked at Alex's hand on Maggie's arm and noticed a small gold band. Her hands began to shake slightly. Maggie looked up and saw Kara. Her eyes widened, and she let Alex take the little girl from her arms. She walked over to the Kryptonian and without a word, brought her into a hug.

"We're all so glad you're okay, Kara." She said firmly, trying to still be professional even though she was gripping Kara with all her might.

"Thank you." Kara said, her voice shaking slightly.

They pulled away and looked at Alex as she walked over, bouncing the little girl as she walked. She looked up at Kara and smiled, "Kara, this is our daughter," she looked at the little girl, her voice rising, "Raimy, this is your Aunt Kara."

Kara blinked. "Hey, there." She said softly, and Raimy held her thumb in her mouth.

Mon-El stepped behind Kara and they both stared at the little girl in wonder. The back of Kara's eyelids hurt like hell, but neither of them could bare to look away.

"And my name's Mon-El," he said softly, offering her his little finger.

Her tiny hands grabbed hold of him and his smile seemed to warm up the whole room. He began to do faces Kara had never seen him make before, causing Raimy to laugh. She watched him in awe.

Alex beamed at the sound of her daughter's laughter and Kara saw the resemblance. Mon-El chuckled softly and used his free hand to make a popping sound with his mouth. Rainy began to laugh again and so he kept doing it.

"Hey, she likes you," Maggie laughed.

Winn smiled as he watched, leaning against his desk. Alex looked up at Mon-El, as if she were seeing him in a new light. She smiled and then looked at Kara as he kept Raimy preoccupied.

"Kara, he's much better than you made Daxamites out to be." She said wryly.

"Well he's only one." Kara said pointedly and he rolled his eyes.

"Well I'm trying to make a better impression on the universe," his face fell slightly, "I am the last Daxamite after all." He smiled sadly back at Raimy, who had taken to examining his other fingers.

Everyone got quiet for a long moment, and he didn't seem to notice. Once Raimy began to laugh again, Maggie turned to Kara.

"So, we're going to have a little party for Raimy here, she's about to turn two."

"Only two?" Mon-El said, "She looks much older than that!" He said in a baby voice to her.

"Would you guys like to come?" Maggie said, "I mean, assuming that Mon-El is going to stay."

Kara frowned. She looked up at Mon-El who didn't seem to hear the question. She looked back and forth between Maggie and Alex, and then down at their daughter. She looked just like Alex when she was little (Kara had seen countless photos). Somehow though, she had Maggie's smile.

She'd missed out on so much.

Tears sprung to her eyes, and she couldn't take it anymore. She shook her head, "I'm--" she choked, "--I'm sorry--"

She turned and ran up the steps. She stood on the balcony and flew up into the air. She soared above the city, looking down at the buildings she'd been dreaming about for years. She faltered and fell, hitting the gravel rooftop of a building. She knelt on the ground and pressed her face to the rocks, her whole body shuddering.

"Kara," a gentle voice said. She jerked her head up, her eyes meeting Mon-El's. He knelt in front of her, staring at her intently, "I--I don't understand, what's wrong?"

She just shook her head and hid her face again.

He put a hand on her shoulder, "Is this not what you wanted?" He asked, "Didn't you want to be home, here with your family?"

She shrugged, still burying her face in the rocks.

"Kara, you have a niece now, isn't that wonderful?" He attempted a new angle and she looked up at him.

"I should've been here!" She cried suddenly, "I should've helped! I should've been there when she was born! I should've been at Alex's wedding!"

"Kara, you can't possibly blame yourself--" He began but she shook her head, stumbling to her feet.

"--No!" She yelled over him, "I should've known."

"Should've known what?" He asked, standing as well.

"I should've known that it was a trap." She said brokenly, looking up at him sadly. "I shouldn't have gone by myself, but I thought I could handle it."

"When they took you?" he asked gently, taking a step forwards as she nodded.

"They said they were going to kill Alex." She said. "At first, I thought they were playing some silly game, but then I was over her house one day, and I found a bomb, hidden in her refrigerator."

His eyes widened and she put her forehead in her palm. "Then, they attacked her in broad daylight. They made it look like something random and unexplainable but I knew. I knew it was them, and I knew it was only the beginning."

"Kara, why didn't you tell anyone?" He asked, his hand moving to hold her arm without him telling it to.

"They claimed responsibility for a bombing that occurred days before they threatened Alex," she said, "and they told me that if I tried to get help, they'd set off another one just like it."

"How could they possibly know if you told anyone?" He asked and she shrugged.

"They said they had spies inside the DEO and the police department," she said, "I didn't know what to believe."

He swallowed and glanced down at the ground and then back up at her, "This seems like an awful lot of work for just one contestant. I mean, they just found me floating around in space, why did they put so much effort into getting you?"

She shrugged, "Maybe because I'd ruined Roulette's businesses before and she wanted to get back at me?" She looked down, "Or perhaps the profit they made off of me outweighed the cost of putting all the resources and time into getting me. They knew I wouldn't sacrifice thousands to save myself."

"Kara, you can't blame yourself," he said, "what you did was... it was honorable." She scoffed and he shook his head, "No, really, Kara, you saved all of those people--"

"--How many did I end up hurting afterwards? How many moments and memories did I miss making while they had me?" She asked.

"Kara," He said gently, "you can't beat yourself up like this. You can't just decide that everything you did was wrong, starting with the moment you saved your sister's life! You can't decide that because you were forced to do things you didn't want to do that you're a terrible person!"

"I could've fought back!" She said, "But I didn't! I let them make me do those things!"

"No, Kara, you didn't have a choice!" He put his hands on her shoulders and made her look up at him. "Neither of us did." he said gently.

"Oh my god," She said, covering her face, and stepping back, "and now I'm totally taking this whole thing over and making it all about me."

"Kara, no--"

She turned to look at him, "--Do you even want to stay on Earth?"

"I--what?" he frowned.

"Do you want to be on Earth?" She repeated, "I didn't even think about asking you until Maggie did."

"Kara, I--"

"--I was so caught up in dreaming that I didn't even stop to think about if you wanted to be here. I just kept talking about this--this utopia, convincing you it was free of anything bad and that there was only beauty here, but I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

He blinked, "You don't really think that, do you?"

She shook her head, "You know, I have no idea what I think anymore."

"Kara--" He stepped towards her.

"--No." she put a hand up and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Think about it for yourself. Don't let me influence you in any way. You need to decide for yourself."

He didn't know what to say. Maybe he did need to think about it; maybe he needed to be apart from her. The thought made his stomach turn. But before he could say anything, she jumped up into the air, and flew away into the setting sun. Suddenly, sunsets and sunrises seemed less appealing to him.

Next Chapter -->

#kara x mon-el #karamel #karamel fic #supervalor #mon el x kara #kara danvers #mon-el #supergirl #until we go down #multi chapter fics

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lpdwillwrite4coffee · 5 years ago

Text

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Michael cursed, ducking out of the way as wood shrapnel arched over his head. It wouldn’t have wounded him, but someone might have noticed if pieces of furniture traveling at high velocity were stopped mid-air by an invisible force.

“Well this worked out beautifully,” he muttered, crunching an ice cube between his teeth. “Look at us, stuck inside a hurricane in a tea cup. Perfect.”

Gabriel stared, wide eyed, at the destruction around them. “I don’t understand…”

“I think I do.” Michael hopped off his bar stool. “Daddy-O’s fucking with you.”

Heat flared in Gabriel’s gaze. “Don’t-”

“Look, Gabe, we tried. We tried to help, and it didn’t matter.” Michael gestured to the ensuing chaos. “Shit still hit the fan. And you know why? Because He-” he pointed upwards “-Never intended for any other outcome to happen.”

“Then why did he send me those visions?” Gabriel snapped back.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was to give you a heads up. Maybe it was to make you feel useful, make you think you still had a purpose in all this-”

“I do have a purpose.”

Michael coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that after you spend a millennium stomping over every inch of this fucking planet without a damned thing to do.”

“Don’t project your inadequacy issues onto this brother,” Gabriel said, glaring at him.

Michael opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it. Sighing, he lifted his hands in surrender. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to have this discussion.”

Through gritted teeth Gabriel said, “Perhaps not.”

Taking a step forward, Michael held his brother’s stare. “Gabe, we did what we could, okay? We tried and we failed.” He shrugged. “It’s time to move on.”

Gabriel frowned. “You think this is the final outcome?” He glanced at the clashing forces of nature around them. “That this is the last event?”

Michael blinked, his brow drawing down over his eyes. “This is the fight you were worried about,” he said. A glass projectile hurtled in his direction and he sidestepped it, unflinching as it exploded against the wall behind him. “You wanted to stop all of this,” he said, waving a hand out. “Because-”

“Because of what happens after this,” Gabriel said. “This is the confluence of everything, Michael. The perfectly placed domino that allows for the rest to tip over.”

Michael shook his head. “What are you saying?”

Electric blue eyes met his in an unwavering stare. “I’m saying this is only the beginning.”

* * *

Griffin must have been hallucinating.

The energy his gift was devouring must have been fueling his own dark memories- ones soaked in blood and hatred, and tasted like black cherry lip gloss and gin. All the rage being siphoned into his head must’ve given life to the things buried deep inside him…

Because Griffin could have sworn he saw Serena’s blonde hair streaking through a dense mob of Newborns, just before their heads were liberated from their bodies.

Griffin started towards the mirage- that’s what it had to be, a mirage- sending Vampires crumbling into ash as he went. Bodies fell around him, his dagger slicing through flesh with ease. Copper stains reached his elbows, drying in the creases of his knuckles and wrists. Pulse thundering against his eardrums, he wasn’t sure if the roaring he heard was coming from the Vampires he was slaughtering, or from his own lungs.

The shimmering blonde of Serena’s ghost curved to the left and doubled back, punching through the ribs of a lone female no one had noticed yet.

Why would Serena be killing other Vampires?

Stabbing his blade through the back of a male’s neck, Griffin tossed him aside and charged forward. He was almost to her…

“Griff!”

A misfired bullet sent plaster dust raining down on him, and Griffin spun around. Boz was caught. A male had his arm wrapped around Boz’s neck, choking him as he dragged him backwards. Boz’s kicked wildly, clawing at the Vampire that had him. His gun had been lost. He was defenseless.

A Berserker’s growl erupted out of Griffin. Boots pounded over gore-covered linoleum and he jumped, tackling the male to the ground. Shoving Boz out of the way, he grabbed for the male’s throat and slammed his head into the floor. Bloodied fists made solid impacts on the softer tissues of the face, ruining the nose and knocking loose a few teeth. Finding his dagger again, Griffin brought it down into the male’s left eye socket.

“Boz?” Griffin called.

He heard scrambling behind him and soon Boz was next to him, his Beretta in hand. Griffin swung to the side, out of his friend’s way. This was Boz’s kill, not his.

Gunfire deafened him as Boz unloaded the rest of his clip into the male.

Rocking back on his heels, Boz lowered his weapon. “Suck on that,” he mocked through labored gasps, watching the male disintegrate.

Swapping his knife to his other hand, Griffin reached for Boz. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Boz said, giving a weak nod. “Dude, next time you’re gonna take off like that, give a guy a warning.”

Griffin blinked. He hadn’t realized he’d gone so far. “Sorry,” he said, offering his hand.

Clapping his palm over Griffin’s, Boz flashed a lopsided grin. “It’s cool,” he said as Griffin hoisted him up.

Turning to head back into the fight, they both pulled up short and watched Otto and Tasha take down the last three Vampires with a nearly acrobatic fighting routine. The heel of Tasha’s pump split apart the male’s decaying chest and she retrieved her knife from the growing pile of ash.

Wiping the blade on her torn hem, she smirked at Griffin and Boz. “Nice job fellas. Now which one of you is gonna pay for my new dress?”

* * *

Amsterdam sighed, closing the book in his hands. He had tried- had read every available resource, researched every possibility, and still he found only the same answer. The answer he suspected Alexander Rex had known from the beginning. The one Mary had tried to explain to him.

Setting the volume aside, John stood and went to the window. He felt the chill from the night through the glass, noted how his breath didn’t fog up the surface like a human’s would.

This isn’t acceptable behavior John, you know this. You’re neutral. Your job is to keep records, to gather information for those in need. Mentally aligning yourself with one side or another is treacherous… It goes against your own personal code, it-

John shut his eyes, pressing his forehead to the window.

“She reminds me of Elizabeth,” he murmured to the sky.

John’s sister, considered a young woman at just fifteen, had been his shining star. Unyielding in her trust of John… even after he’d been turned.

“No, Elizabeth, you must stay away. I’m a monster-”

“You’re only a monster if you allow yourself to be one, Jonathan.”

“I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t. I believe in you brother. Do you believe in yourself?”

It was the first time he’d ever thought that maybe he could control his Vampiric nature, instead of being a slave to his hunger. He left the root cellar he’d barricaded himself in holding Elizabeth’s hand.

Smallpox took her a year later, a month before she was to be wed. She died holding his hand, whispering about how fitting it was that their lives began and ended the same way.

Nikki reminded him of Elizabeth, in more ways than he could fully grasp.

And now there was one more reason to add to his list.

He needed to call Griffin. But John could only stare at the moonlit clouds and long for starlight.

* * *

Griffin stood in the middle of the dance floor, surveying the carnage. Someone had raised the house lights and shut off the speakers, and the quiet was jarring. But nothing compared to the mangled wreck inside his head.

One of the security guards motioned to get his attention. “Hey O’Connor, Tony’s here.”

Just as he finished saying it, the club’s owner came in through one of the hidden stairwells and gaped. “Holy shit,” he whispered, broken glass crunching under his loafers.

“Tony,” Griffin said, offering a short nod.

Pressing his lips in a hard line, Tony glanced around, mentally tallying the bodies. “My guys upstairs weren’t kidding,” he muttered, stopping at Griffin’s side.

“Afraid not.”

Running a finger over his brow, Tony turned towards him. “Your people alright?”

Griffin jerked his head. “We’re all kinda banged up, but we’re alive.”

“Good, that’s… that’s good.” Tony gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. He sighed, still staring around the room at the immense damage. “O’Connor, you got any idea how this could’ve happened?”

“Honestly?” Griffin shook his head. “I have no idea.”

“Sir?” One of the other bouncers called.

Scratching at his graying temple, Tony stepped over to him. “Yeah, kid.”

“It’s Douglas,” the bouncer started. “He was dropped from the ceiling. He didn’t make it, sir.”

Tony cursed under his breath, glancing past the guard towards the bar where the man’s corpse was still sprawled out.

“Who’s Douglas?” Griffin asked.

“My head of security,” Tony said, pulling out his phone. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a couple calls.”

Griffin nodded. “The Cleaners?”

Tony flicked his gaze to another civilian body lying nearby, and exhaled. “Oh yeah.”

Griffin watched as Tony paced away, lifting his phone to his ear. He knew the routine. Too many civilians die in a Vampire attack and the Cleaners were called. They didn’t just dispose of the bodies and evidence, they contacted their people in the police department and the media. Made sure anything damning never leaked, took care of witness reports, and found the right scapegoat to be blamed should the story ever hit the papers. Something this big? They’d probably go with gang violence or a drug cartel turf war. Something plausible and shrouded in fear so the public wouldn’t dig deeper.

Hurried footsteps from behind him brought Griffin’s head around. Boz was jogging over, with Otto and Joel following.

“What is it?” He asked when Boz slowed in front of him.

“James just called,” he said. “He and Nikos caught a female trying to escape. They’re bringing her down now, figured she might give up some information.”

Otto gave a derisive snort. “Yeah, good luck with that. Aligned hardly ever talk.”

Griffin nodded. “Boz do me a favor, and do a second head count with everyone. I want to be sure we’re all accounted for.”

“Sure, buddy.” Boz clapped him on the arm. Before he got too far away, he turned back and asked, “Nikki’s in the bathroom, right?”

“What?”

Boz gestured to the ladies’ room. “I didn’t see her before, so I just assumed she was in there.”

Griffin scowled. “No. No, she was…” He started moving towards the expansive structure in the middle of the room. “She was behind the bar.”

“I didn’t see her,” Boz called after him, following.

Griffin skirted the edge of the bar top, jogging behind it. Nikki wasn’t there. His boots scuffed through broken glass and wood. A puddle of red caught his attention.

Blood… Blood where Nikki had been sitting when he’d left her.

Griffin’s stomach rolled.

“She’s not here,” he said, voice thick. “Where is she?” He glanced over his shoulder at Boz and Otto. “Where did she go?”

“Hey, Griff, it’s okay,” Boz said, attempting to soothe him. “We’ll find her. She couldn’t have gotten far.”

Immediately the men spread out, searching behind doors and curtains, calling for Nikki. Tasha strode over to him, a frown pinching her brow together.

“Is she hurt?” She asked, skipping through his mind to the image of blood on the floor.

“I don’t know. Do you hear her?” Griffin asked.

Tasha inhaled, closing her eyes. She waited for a moment, then two, and three. It made Griffin want to rip his hair out.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t… I don’t hear her, but there’s so much noise.” Tasha stared at all the people hustling around the room. “Maybe if I got closer to wherever she was? Don’t you sense her?”

Griffin’s jaw tightened. He could barely recognize his own consciousness inside his head, let alone anyone else’s.

“You’re right, I’m sorry” Tasha said, waving a hand. “I forget how different our gifts can be sometimes.” Looking behind her, Tasha whistled. “Hey Joel, you mind lending a hand?”

Joel nodded, moving across the room. His expression was hard but his dark brown eyes were wide. He was reading something.

“I can’t tell where she is,” he started. “But I know she didn’t die on the premises.” He met Griffin’s gaze briefly. “I would have felt it.”

Tasha jerked her head. “Okay, so at least we know she’s alive.”

“Or isn’t in the building anymore,” Joel added.

Panic stole Griffin’s breath. Where the hell could she be?

“Boz?” He called out, looking towards his friend.

“Sorry buddy,” Boz said, shaking his head. “Nothing yet.”

“She couldn’t have just vanished,” Griffin snapped, dragging a hand through his hair.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and focused. If there was ever a time for his gift to dive straight into Nikki’s head, it was now.

Tap, tap, tap…

Griffin’s eyes fluttered open. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Tasha asked.

Tap, tap, tap…

“That.” He scowled, turning in the direction of the sound. He knew it wasn’t his gift picking up the noise… So where was it coming from?

Tap, tap, tap…

“Everyone shut up for a second,” Joel ordered. The room fell silent and the tapping grew louder.

Griffin blinked. “It’s coming from over there,” he exclaimed.

“Hello?” A faint voice called. Tap, tap, tap. “Can anyone hear me?”

“Nikki?” Griffin yelled, jogging around the bar.

“Griffin, is that you?”

Relief made his head swim. “Yeah, Nik, it’s me. Where are you?”

There was a brief pause before she answered. “I’m in the cabinet.” Even at a low volume, her embarrassment was audible.

“What?”

“I accidentally locked myself in.”

Crouching down, Griffin ran his hands over the length of cabinet doors. “Why did you do that?” He pulled at one of the handles, but it was locked.

“I needed to hide.”

His gut clenched. “Are you hurt? What happened?” He tried another handle. Still locked.

“I’m okay… I think.” There was rustling from inside, and she continued. “I’m just stuck.”

“Alright, hold on Nik, we’re gonna get you out.” Griffin craned his neck, waving Tony over. “You got a key for this thing?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, hold on.” Coming around, he held out a key ring loaded down with metal. “It’s one of the small brass ones.”

Griffin stared blankly at the man. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“There are twenty brass keys on here, Tony,” Griffin snapped, shaking them in his palm.

“I said small. A small brass one.” Tony waved a hand out. “It’s probably a thinner one too… just like your patience.”

Griffin curled his lip in a sardonic smile. “Cute, real cute,” he muttered, trying one of the keys.

“Just trying to add a little humor to the situation.” Tony squatted down next to him. “You wanna tell me why there’s a girl locked in my liquor cabinet to begin with?”

“It was an accident,” Nikki and Griffin answered together.

Tony lifted his eyebrows and leaned closer to the door while Griffin tried another key. “Hey, there sweetheart,” he said, Brooklyn accent sculpting the words. “I’m Tony, what’s your name?” She answered and he smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Nikki. I’m very sorry about this predicament you’ve gotten into.”

“That’s alright,” she said, voice muffled. “I really am okay.” She paused for a beat. “Griffin? I’m okay, I promise.”

Griffin’s hands stilled on the lock. He’d feel better once she was out.

His breath caught to the sound of the bolt sliding. He knelt down, wrenching the door so hard it nearly jumped its tracks. Nikki’s pale fingers made it into the light first, and he reached to support her.

She’s so cold, he thought, swallowing hard.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, easing back to give her space.

Nikki wriggled free of her confines, pulling her legs out clumsily. “Thanks,” she said. Shaky hands pushed the hair from her eyes and she looked up at Griffin.

Alarming streaks of crimson carved twin riverbeds down her face. Crescent shadows under her eyes contrasted against her ghostly complexion, and her luminescent irises swirled beneath dark lashes.

“That bad huh?” Nikki said hoarsely, pale lips quivering in a smile.

Griffin blinked. “No, no, it’s…” He faltered, trying to find the right words. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Helping her to her feet, he noticed the chill in the air surrounding her. She wasn’t just cold; she was emanating it. For the first time since they met, Griffin allowed the dogs to roam free with her nearby. He thought they’d dive right into her subconscious, but instead they circled her, passed over as if she wasn’t inches from him. She was a blank spot on their radar.

“Thanks,” Nikki said, hands gripping his forearms.

Tony frowned. “Mind if I ask why you locked yourself in there?”

“This happened,” she explained, gesturing to her nose. “And I didn’t want to attract any Vampires, so I did the only thing I could think of.”

“Smart,” Tony said with a note of respect.

One of the bouncers called to Tony and he excused himself before striding around the bar. Nikki glanced over her shoulder at the cluster of people gathered around. They all stared, wide eyed and unmoving.

“I should go get cleaned up,” she whispered to Griffin.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, that’s okay.” She shook her head. “You stay here. I won’t take long.”

She was feeling vulnerable, uncomfortable in her own body, and she didn’t want an audience while she dealt with the shockwaves.

Griffin reached for her as she started to pull away. “Nik-”

“I’m fine,” she said, too harshly. She winced, seeing the wounded expression in his eyes before his expression shuttered closed. Nikki wanted to explain, but people were still staring at her…

Ducking her head, she hurried on unsteady legs towards the ladies’ room, ignoring anyone who watched her. Shoving open the door, she lurched to the sinks and dug the heels of her palms into the porcelain, holding herself up with trembling arms. She gagged but nothing came up.

Nikki forced herself to breathe evenly through the waves of nausea. When her stomach settled, she glanced up, searching for a paper towel dispenser. She needed something to wipe the dried blood off her face.

Ask him about me.

She blinked, expecting the words to vanish like a mirage.

But there they were, scrawled in red lipstick across the neighboring mirror.

Ask him about me.

It was the same shade of red the woman…Vampire… had been using while she’d chatted with Nikki. As if it was completely normal to be wearing her best friend’s shoes and talking to the woman her bosses wanted dead.

Ask him about me.

What had she said her name was? It started with an S…

Ask him about me.

… Serena.

Numb, and half dazed, Nikki pulled a fistful of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and reached over. She scrubbed until every trace was gone. Until the words were only visible in Nikki’s head.

She took a few more paper towels and wet them under the tap. She didn’t remember cleaning her face or washing her hands, wiping down the sink or throwing everything away. Her head buzzed until she touched the cold handle of the door and stopped.

Griffin knew her.

Griffin knew the Vampire that had done all of this.

And he’d lied about it.

* * *

“O’Connor,” Tony called out. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

Stepping away from Tasha and Boz, Griffin trudged through debris towards the other men. “What is it?”

Tony waved him closer and jerked his chin at the corpse draped over the bar. “He’s got something written on his chest.”

“What?” Griffin scowled.

“More like carved…”

Tugging at the shredded tacky cotton of the man’s shirt, Tony nodded for Griffin to look. Thin bloody scratches spelled out Pounds of Flesh across his abdomen.

“What the hell does that mean?” Griffin asked.

“I’m gonna level with you,” Tony started, voice kept to a low murmur. “I gave Douglas some… leniency when it came to disposal of any trespassing Vamps.”

Griffin pieced the puzzle together immediately. “Douglas was a blood supplier. He was in the Red circuit.”

Tony scratched his temple, features pinching with discomfort. “I didn’t ask many questions. Just asked he keep his freelancing business as quiet as possible.”

“Looks like he did a great job,” Griffin said, looking around at the destruction.

“Obviously he let things get out of hand.”

“And it got him, and a bunch of civilians killed.”

Tony held his hands up, placating. “I know, I know…”

Griffin’s stare flicked back to Douglas’ body. “Was he paying tribute?”

“You mean giving a profit cut to the Alpha? I highly doubt it.”

“Pounds of Flesh,” Griffin recited. “This was retaliation. Douglas screwed up, so Bradley came after him.”

“Who?”

“Manhattan’s Alpha. His name’s Nicholas Bradley.”

Tony’s brows knitted together. “So this wasn’t about you?”

Griffin blinked at him. “Me?”

“Your people were holding summit here,” Tony said. “Some of my guys overheard something about an Alpha coming for you.”

Folding his thick arms over his chest, Griffin leveled his glare on Tony. “Some of your men need to mind their own business. For obvious reasons.” He nodded pointedly at Douglas’ corpse.

“Hey, it’s their job to know what’s going on in my club, and if that violates your sense of privacy, too bad.” Anger flushed Tony’s cheeks and he was silent for a moment before exhaling and shaking his head. “Look, we’re both just trying to figure out why this happened. You know my people would never jeopardize your cause.”

Griffin forced the tension to leave his shoulders, but his posture didn’t shift much. “I know,” he said. “Did you call the Cleaners?”

Tony nodded. “They’re on their way.”

Boz jogged around the bar, cell phone in hand, motioning to Griffin. “Lisa called. She’s with James and Nikos, they’re bringing down the female they caught.”

Seconds later they heard furious shrieks, and the clanging of metal. Lisa strode into the room at the head of the group, her daggers still in hand. James and Nikos were on either side of the writhing, spitting female, hauling her by the restraints across the floor. Lengths of silver chain were wrapped around her body, burning her flesh wherever it touched. Black hair clung to her face as she fought to break free.

“Fuck you,” she screamed. “Let me go!”

From behind Griffin, Otto muttered, “She looks like a handful.”

“I’ll tear your throats out!” She roared, digging her heels into the floor and skidding.

“Not exactly helping your case there, sweetheart,” Tony said.

The female screeched, fangs glinting under the lights. “You’ll all burn! You’ll burn because of her!”

Tony waved for his men. “Take her to lock up. We’ll figure out what to do with her when the Cleaners get here.”

“You’ll burn! All of you! She’ll burn you all!” The female screamed as two security guards dragged her away.

“Who was she talking about?”

Nikki’s voice at his shoulder made Griffin jump. He hadn’t heard her, or felt her near him.

“Ah…” He faltered, staring down at her. “I don’t know.”

Green-gold eyes met his and his heart stuttered.

“I think I do,” she said, voice faint.

Griffin waited for her to continue, but she didn’t say anything more. She only turned and watched the guards shove the female into a narrow corridor and slam the door behind them. The screaming didn’t stop.

#Children of Lilith #free novels for pandemic times #free fiction #happy sunday y'all you're getting a bunch of chapters cuz this is when stuff ramps tf up in the book #my work #my writing

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